THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


O!  yes.  I  lived  on  promises. 

I  know  the  scanty  store: 
You   need   not  offer  them  to  me. 

O!  no  not  ever  more. 
For  oftimes  I  wondered  how 

1   would  keep  from  heu'iriiitr  bread: 
While  working  hard  all  through  the  day. 

Huimry    1   went  to  bed.— ( /V'/''    110.) 


SHERLEY 


BOOK   OF   POEMS 

CHOICE  AND  RARE 


BY 

SHERLEY  PEGRAM 


There  is  a  jewel  here  for  alL 
The  best  part  may  they  call, 

And  treasure  what  is  truly  good. 
But  cast  away  the  hull. 


COPYRIGHTED 


Entered  according  to  the  act  of  Congress  by  the 
authoress,  Sherley  Pegram,  Elkin,  N.  C.,  1911 


ALL  RIGHTS  RESEEVED 


WITH  A 

HEART  FULL  OF  GRATITUDE 
AND  LOVING  MEMORY 

THIS  VOLUME 

IS  INSCRIBED  TO  MY 

SAINTED  FATHER  AND  MOTHER 


(iii) 


PREFACE 


These  poems  are  sure  to  be  interesting  to  you,   for  they  were 
written  not  by  a  college  graduate,  but  through   "inspiration",  by 
Miss  Pegram,  who  was  born  and  reared  on  a  little  farm,  "Fairy 
Haven",  which  is  her  present  home,  near  the  village  of  Elkin,  in 
•    Surry    County,    North    Carolina.      Her    father    and    mother    died 
'    when  she  was  quite  young,  leaving  two  little  sisters  in  her  care, 
and  while   she   had   another   sister   and   four  brothers,   they  were 
away  from  home  and  thus  all  the  responsibilities  of  the  home  and 
her  younger  sisters  devolved  upon  her,  and  her  life  has  been  one 
of  self-sacrifice  and  perfect  devotion  to  those  who  are  near  and 
'    dear  to  her,  and  the  sick  and  the  poor  ever  find  a  true  friend  and 
I    helper  in  her.      Having  thus  spent  her  life  in  the   country,   and 
!    deprived  of  a  liberal  education,  yet  she  is  just  such  a  woman  as 
God  intended  that  woman  should  be — true,  noble  and  good — always 
;    doing  her  duty  and  knowing  but  little  of  the  luxuries  and  some 
times  needing  the  very  necessities  of  life,  yet  she  has  ever  been 
hopeful  that  through  the  cloud  God's  sun  would  sometime  cast  its 
warmest  rays  upon  her  and  those  she  loves,  and  believing  that  it 
is  through  His  mercies  that  she  has  been  permitted  to  write  these 
poems  as  a  means  of  support  for  herself  and  sisters,   she  sends 
them  forth  with  the  wish  that  they  may  be  a  source  of  enjoyment 
and  real  good  to  many  others. 


448355 


PACK. 

The  Sunbeams   1 

Destroy  not  Life 2 

Asking  for  Friendship  3 

Mistaken    Love    5 

Love  will   not   Last 7 

The    Wrong    Love    8 

Love  has  Changed   10 

The  Day's  Work  Done  11 

Father   Time    13 

You  Your  Own  Judge 14 

Life  is  but  a  Dream   16 

Love  and  Friendship    17 

Love  is   Selfish    18 

Home     19 

The  Bright  Flowers    20 

Back  to   the   Old   Earth 21 

i  The  Golden  Cord    22 

Love  as  a  Fire  that  Glows   23 

Friends  that  are  True 24 

(vii) 


PAGE. 

Youth's  Young  Morning   25 

Love    Tree    27 

Blending  of  Winter  and  Spring   28 

Hope    30 

Honor  or  Love    32 

Self's  Eyeglasses   33 

Fill  Your  Own   Place    35 

The  Eyes  Tell  the  Story  36 

September    38 

The  Lasting  Flowers    39 

Do   Your  Best    40 

The  Little  Boat  41 

Viewing  Ahead    42 

A  Wanderer    44 

Family  Love  45 

The  Wandering  Girl  46 

Viewing   Backward    48 

The  Hand  That  Rocks  the  Cradle 49 

Love  and  Youth  50 

Going  to  Do   51 

Get  Ready  to  Go  52 

The  Wandering  Boy    53 

Money   54 

Carry  Your  Own  Light 56 

Going  Forward    58 

(viii) 


PAGE. 

The  Best  Part  of  Life 59 

Only  Three  At  the  Old  Home 60 

The  Gospel  Ship 62 

Working   63 

Building   64 

Unfound    68 

Returned  too  Late   69 

Fighting  the  Wolf    76 

Loafing    79 

To  Attempt  Great  Things   80 

Friendship 84 

Death's  Kindness  Not  Known  86 

Shadows   88 

Yesterday,  To-day  and  To-morrow  89 

Friends   90 

Love  and  Friendship  Never  Entwine  92 

Falling  Petals  94 

The  Moonbeams  95 

Work  Unfinished   98 

Self  in  the  Way  of  Good 99 

Twenty-one    Years    101 

Promises    Forgotten    102 

Love  is  Dead 104 

Love   and  Age 105 

Memory 106 

(ix) 


PAGE. 

Time   for    Ghosts    108 

A  Sailor's  Love   109 

Promises    110 

We  Know  Not  Love  Ill 

New  Year  112 

Love  and  Honor   114 

Trust  in  the  Lord  115 

The  Rose  All  Alone  116 

Plighted    Troth    117 

Love  as  a  Dream  118 

The  Father's  Wandering  Boy  120 

A  Chance  in  Love 122 

The  World's  Concealment 123 

Untrue    Love    125 

Love  is  Not  Laid  Away 127 

The  Blue  and  the  Gray  128 

The  Shepherd's  Care   130 

Other  Loves    131 

The  Language  of  the  Eyes 133 

What  Will  We  Give?  135 

Seeking   Happiness   136 

The  New  Year   138 

Silence    140 

Purposes    142 

The  Flag  of  Liberty   143 

(x) 


PAGE. 

Old  Age  Unwelcome .. 144 

Release ; 145 

Take  Not  Love  Away 146 

The  Evening  Bright  Preferred  148 

Deceive  Not  Love  149 

True   Friends    150 

Love    Pranks 151 

Wishes 152 

Death     . .  153 

Trying  to  Pluck  the  Flowers    160 

The  Dying  Soldier   161 

No  Improvement  in  Love 162 

Jesus  Is  Calling 164 

Gathering  the  Withered  Flowers  165 

If  You  are  a  Stranger i 166 

Spring  Has  Passed    167 

I  Can't  Praise  Winter 168 

Love  the  Trees   170 

Things  That  are  New 171 

What  Is  Love?   173 

A  Flower  Closed 175 

The  Weaver    176 

Moses   178 

The  One  Astray    181 

The  Soldier's  Grave 182 

(xi) 


PAGE. 

Living  in  the  Country  183 

There  Will  Be  Joy  in  Heaven  184 

Time's  Mighty  Hand  185 

The  Rosebud  That  Never  Bloomed  186 

The  Old  Maid  .  ..188 


(xii) 


BOOK  OF  POEMS 


THE  SUNBEAMS. 

If  you  could  gather  the  sunbeams 
And  carry  them  into  the  night, 

And  weave  them  among  the  dewdrops 
And  string  them  together  with  light. 

If  you  could  chrystalize  the  dewdrops 
And  string  them  one  by  one, 

Amid  life's  toils  and  troubles 
Which  all  of  us  wish  to  shun. 

You  would  accomplish  something 
The  world  would  like  to  recall, 

Something  grand  and  noble, 

Something  that  would  benefit  all. 

For  the  world  looks  into  the  gloom 

Of  the  dark  future  ahead, 
And  does   not  see  the  dewdrops 

Which  heaven  alone  hath  shed. 

So  it  is  in  life's  pathway 
The  dewdrops  are  scattered  around, 

[1] 


But  sin  has  cast  a  shadow 

That  is  why  they  are  seldom  found. 

You  must  carry  the  sunbeams  with  you, 

Or  you  will  never  know, 
How  grand  the  scenes  above  you 

Or  how  beautiful  the  earth  below. 


DESTROY  NOT  LIFE. 

You  think  you  a  kindness 

To  the  lone  rose  do  show, 
When  you  shatter  the  petals 

To  the  cold  earth  below. 
For  all  its  dear  friends 

Have  gone  to  their  rest, 
And  why  should  it 

Not  sleep  with  the  blest. 

But  I  ask  you  in  pity 

To  let  it  cling  on, 
To  the   rose  tree  until 

The  fragrance  is  gone. 
For  some  lone  traveler 

In  passing  that  way, 
May   find   a   solace — 

A  comfort  to  stay. 

[2] 


Is  there  not  a  pleasure 

To  hold  on  to  life, 
As  long  as  there's  hope 

Of  winning  the  strife  ? 
And  why  not  give  others 

The  chance  we  do  take, 
Why  not  give   hope 

Instead  of  a  shake? 

Let  time  alone  shatter 

The  last  rose  in  bloom, 
For  he  knoweth  just  how 

To  leave  the  perfume. 
Destroy  not  life 

Tho'  to  you  it  be  drear, 
For  to-morrow  may  show 

A  future  most  clear. 


ASKING  FOR  FRIENDSHIP. 

I  do  not  ask  for  your  love, 

I  will  not  of  it  speak ; 
I  only  ask  to  be  your  friend, 

Your  happiness  I  seek. 
Look  into  my  eyes  and  see, 

If  deceit  you  can  there  find ; 
For  I  seek  not  by  promises  fair, 

Your  pure  heart  now  to  bind. 

[3] 


I  see  within  your  eyes  a  look, 

That  you  have  been  deceived; 
But  trust  me  ever  and  I  will  not, 

Your  trusting  heart  now  grieve. 
I  do  not  ask  you  for  your  heart, 

Just  give  to  me  your  hand; 
In  token  of  our  friendship  here, 

That  will  for  ever  stand. 

I  know  that  love  is  fickle, 

The  binding  cords  can  break ; 
But  friendship  is  more  steady, 

The  wind  can  not  it  shake. 
Ofttimes  love  doth  leave  a  heart, 

Almost  dead  and  cold; 
And  friendship  doth  it  find, 

And  himself  around  it  fold. 

Give  friendship  the  first  chance. 

Let  him  the  inner  track  hold; 
That  he  may  guide  the  course  aright, 

When  love  appears  so  bold. 
Give  love  to  understand, 

That  if  he  flees  away 
You  can  live  happy  without  him, 

And  ofttimes  he  will  stay. 


[4] 


MISTAKEN  LOVE. 

The  poet  tells  us  how  there  came, 

An  urchin  to  his  bower, 
All  chilled  with  the  pouring  rain, 

Amid  the  dark  still  hour. 
He  opened  the  door  in  pity,  Ah, 

And  let  the  urchin  in, 
He  warmed  him  in  his  bosom  there, 

O!  was  he  warming  sin? 

Was  there  ever  in  the  heart  of  man, 

A  warmth,  yes,  there  to  glow, 
That  was  not  kindled  there  by  love, 

His  own  power  to  show? 
Does  man's  kindness  reach  more  far, 

Than  love  in  his  wide  sway? 
Is  man  more  noble  without  love? 

O !  look  around  to-day. 

It  is  love's  power  alone  can  keep, 

The  world  from  sinking  so  low, 
That  the  wild  beasts  would  be  ashamed, 

Away  from  their  dens  to  go. 
O !  where  is  the  heart  that's  made  of  flesh, 

That  was  not  hammered  in  shape, 
Is  it  not  love  that  raises  many  higher 

Than  the  old  Harry  Ape? 

The  poet  must  have  mistook  the  boy, 
With  his  bow  and  dart, 

[6] 


For  man  cannot  warm  love, 

With  his  cold  stony  heart. 
O !  no,  its  love  that  works  the  change, 

He  batters  on  the  heart, 
Until  he  shapes  it  into  flesh, 

And  takes  away  a  part. 

Man  in  his  noblest  work  to-day, 

Must  surely  love  possess, 
Or  else  it  would  fall  to  the  ground, 

Be  shattered  as  a  jest. 
A  work  is  judged  by  what  it  does, 

By  the  poor  fallen  race, 
And  if  love  in  the  heart  doth  dwell, 

It  shines  out  through  the  face. 

One  does  not  feel  a  chill,  yes,  when, 

Love  pierces  through  the  heart, 
O !  no,  the  life  blood  flows  all  through, 

And  warms  up  every  part. 
Every  good  cause  on  earth  that  have, 

The  love  of  a  true  heart, 
Will  work  to  it  advance, 

And  will  not  from  it  part. 


[6] 


LOVE  WILL  NOT  LAST. 

You  need  not  say  your  love  will  last, 

As  long  as  you  have  life; 
For  many  there  have  been  before, 

Who  lost  it  mid  the  strife. 
For  if  one  lives  but  a  few  years, 

There's  many  storms  to  face, 
And  many  fields  of  flowers  to  cross, 

And  many  joys  to  chase. 

And  if  you  wish  your  love  to  prove, 

You  need  not  of  it  tell, 
For  it  will  show  by  its  own  fruit, 

If  in  the  heart  it  dwell. 
You  need  not  blow  a  horn, 

To  tell  one  the  sun  is  bright, 
So  let  your  love  be  known, 

By  the  shining  of  its  light. 

To  say  you  love  is  very  cheap, 

It  only  costs  the  breath; 
While  if  you  prove  it  to  the  world 

It  may  cost  you  your  death. 
But  I  had  reather  see  one  spark, 

Of  love  by  practice  shown, 
Than  only  to  hear  it  told, 

Tho'  said  in  a  sweet  tone. 

You  need  not  talk  of  love  to  me, 
It  is  a  waste  of  breath, 

[7] 


Once  it  would  have  been  believed, 
But  now  it  recalls  the  death 

Of  my  bright  hopes  that  stood  before, 
When  first  I  heard  the  sound; 

But  you  slew  it,  now  its  dead, 
And  buried  in  the  ground. 


THE  WRONG  LOVE. 

Do  not  speak  to  me  of  love, 

That  leads  so  many  astray, 
I  want  a  love  that  goeth  right, 

A  love  that  knows  the  way. 
That  will  not  lead  out  in  the  dark, 

And  there  in  the  quicksands  leave, 
A  true  and  trusting  life  alone, 

A  pure  heart  there  to  grieve. 

Why  should  one  not  prefer, 

A  love  that's  sure  to  last, 
That  never  goes  beyond, 

Where  reason  a  hope  can  cast. 
Why  do  we  so  many  find, 

Trying  their  steps  to  retrace, 
Is  it  that  they  missed  the  track, 

Or  failed  to  win  in  the  race? 

[8] 


Why  is  it  one  likes  to  find, 

Reason  near  their  side, 
When  walking  through  the  business  world, 

They  like  in  him  to  confide. 
But  if  he  steps  out  of  their  way, 

When  they  in  love  confide, 
They  are  sure  to  let  him  pass, 

And  say  now  let  us  hide. 

There  are  so  many  ways  and  schemes, 

Of  changing  color  and  taste, 
That  we  are  not  really  sure, 

What  doth  now  fill  its  place, 
We  ofttimes  do  not  see  things, 

As  they  really  are, 
They  must  be  pointed  out  by  one, 

Who  can  see,  yes,  more  far. 

But  when  love  stands  out  plain  to  view, 

That  all  the  world  may  see, 
And  reason  stands  there  too, 

And   his   command   is   flee 
And  all  may  flee  but  one, 

And  reason  can't  him  change, 
He  will  not  hear  arguments, 

The  world  thinks  it  is  strange. 

The  world  knows  not  the  power  of  love, 
Nor  the  working  of  his   way, 

[9] 


It  is  the  one  that's  in  his  power, 
That  knows  his  hand  can   slay. 

And  is  it  not  strange, 

When  one  doth  feel  his  grasp, 

That  he  does  not  rush  away, 
But  instead  doth  him  clasp. 


LOVE  HAS  CHANGED. 

Love  is  not  what  he  used  to  be, 

In  the  days  long  ago, 
The  fair  ladies  of  to-day 

Consider  him  quite  too  slow; 
He  used  to  be  able  the  battle  to  win, 

With  only  his  bow  dart  to  let  him  in. 

But  now  he  must  bring 

His   silver   and   gold, 
And  his  knowledge  of  business, 

His  plans  to  unfold. 
You  talk  of  a  love 

In  the  cottage  so  poor, 
Do  you  think  he  is  there, 

Or  is  it  not  o'er. 

What  do  we  see, 

When  the  hovel  we  pass, 
Standing  in  the  door, 

His  wings  have  been  cast 

[10] 


And  he  has  instead, 

Of  his  bow  and  dart, 
A  sword  with  which 

He  pierces  the  heart. 

Love  has  been  in  the  world 

A  long  time,  'tis  true, 
And  has  he  not  gained 

Some  knowledge  from  you? 
Doth  he  not  know 

He  is  welcome  much  more, 
When  with  his  bow  dart 

He  brings  all  his  store. 

Now  if  he  has  not 

In  his  long  life  learned, 
Without  some  fuel 

The  heart  is  soon  burned. 
Let  him  go  from  the  earth, 

And  let  sense  take  his  place, 
That  some  honor  may  be 

In  winning  the  race. 


THE  DAY'S  WORK  DONE. 

When  the  day's  work  is  done  the  night  will  be  sweet, 
For  the  old  world  without  it  would  be  incomplete ; 
There  would  be  no  morning  to  brighten  the  day, 
If  there  was  no  night  our  labors  to  stay. 

[11] 


If  there  was  no  night  to  gather  the  dew, 
The  flowers  would  wither  away  from  our  view, 
And  we  too  would  follow  the  flowers — yes,  soon, 
For  we  could  not  endure  forever  a  noon. 

The  morning  is  glorious  when  the  bright  sun 

Shines  forth  in  its  brightness  his  day's  race  to  run, 

The  dewdrops  do  greet  him  with  joyous  surprise, 

And  the  flowers  smile  forth  with  their  bright  shining  eyes. 

When  at  noonday  we  seek  the  cool  shade, 
Where  the  stream  doth  flow  and  the  fairies  have  played, 
Where  the  sun  cannot  but  peep  through  the  thick  grove, 
And  brighten  a  scene  which  all  of  us  love. 

After  the  noonday  the  work  seems  to  weigh 
More  heavily  upon  us  towards  the  close  of  day; 
Work  while  it  is  morning  when  the  day  is  quite  young, 
That  in  the  evening  your  work  may  be  done. 

When  the  shadows  do  lengthen  all  around, 

We  think  of  the  rest  when  we  lay  underground ; 

We  do  not  despair  when  those  thought  round  us  crowd, 

For  we  know  in  the  morning  we  will  break  the  dark  shroud 

We  know  in  the  morning  no  clouds  will  overcast 
The  sun  in  his  glory,  all  trouble  is  past, 
There  will  be  no  evening  or  clouds  to  conceal 
The  love  that  God's  people  towards  Him  doth  feel. 


[12] 


FATHER  TIME. 

Old  Father  Time  is  still  in  the  race, 
Though  man  is  now  giving  him  a  fine  chase; 
He  is  growing  feeble,  we  now  see  the  strain. 
Will  man  in  the  end  the  victory  gain? 

When  he  was  young  he  gave  man  a  chase, 
He  kept  him  a  running  for  a  long  race; 
Man  by  his  knowledge  has  shortened  the  day, 
And  they  get  there  sooner  than  the  old  way. 

And  when  he  sees  that  time  doth  delay, 
He  rushes  upon  him  with  a  dagger  to  slay; 
Time  he  doth  rise  in  his  strength  for  to  show, 
And  presses  right  on  in  the  course  he  should  go. 

Man  by  his  skill  and  invention  doth  show, 
That  he  is  killing  time,  yes  doth  he  know, 
That  each  blow  he  strikes  at  time  he  doth  feel; 
We  see  the  marks  on  him,  he  cannot  conceal. 

Why  does  man  such  hatred  now  show, 
At  Old  Father  Time  when  his  steps  don't  go 
As  fast  as  they  wish  for  in  the  grand  race, 
That  they  a  curse  murmur  in  his  old  face? 

What  do  men  think  of,  why  don't  he  detain 
Time  in  his  course  that  he  may  here  gain 
A  few  steps  ahead  of  him  that  will  count 
More  in  his  favor  than  storming  about? 

[13] 


What  will  time  do  when  man  press  him  sore, 
Just  step  out  of  his  way,  as  he  has  before, 
That  he  may  show  man  the  end  of  the  race — 
That  eternity  is  there  for  him  to  now  face. 


YOU  YOUR  OWN  JUDGE. 

You  say  you  fear  the  judgment, 

The  time  when  you  must  stand, 
And  hear  the  final  sentence, 

Will  you  be  on  the  right  or  left  hand? 
The  judge  will  there  hold  the  book, 

There  are  two  in  number  we  are  told, 
O !  which  will  he  bring  to  your  view, 

Which  will  he  for  you  unfold? 

You  are  now  in  doubt  and  fear, 

To  hear  what  the  sentence  will  be, 
But  if  you  will  turn  the  pages, 

Of  your  own  life  book  you  will  see. 
For  you  are  writing  in  it, 

You  keep  the  record  each  day, 
It  is  written  down  in  that  flesh, 

It  is  your  own  hand  that  will  slay. 

The  book  of  life  is  there  held, 

By  the  judge  who  will  then  appear, 

And  read  out  the  sentence  for  all, 
In  a  voice  that  all  can  hear. 

[14] 


If  your  name  is  there  it  will  show, 
That  your  record  has  been  kept, 

By  the  one  who  seeth  the  heart, 
The  one  who  has  never  slept. 

The  book  of  records  is  brought, 

The  one  where  the  records  stand, 
That  all  the  world  may  see, 

If  foul  or  clean  is  your  hand. 
And  you  are  asked  to  bring  forth, 

The  record  you  have  to  show, 
That  you  may  see  for  yourself, 

That  it  with  the  other  doth  go. 

You  may  try  only  to  remember, 

The  good  things  you  have  done, 
But  you  are  writing  away, 

You  cannot  the  whole  truth  shun. 
You  may  deceive  the  world, 

Yes,  and  yourself  too, 
But  in  the  judgment  day 

All  things  will  be  brought  to  view. 

If  there  was  no  judge  to  stand, 

In  that  day  for  you  to  face, 
You  would  be  ashamed, 

Your  own  record  there  to  trace. 
For  there  is  no  excuse  to-day, 

The  conscience  it  doth  show, 
So  write  in  it  what  you  may, 

Just  write  what  you  here  know. 

[15] 


LIFE  IS  BUT  A  DREAM. 

Life  is  but  a  dream 
That  passeth  fast  away, 

It  is  not  what  it  really  seems, 
To  the  young  and  happy  and  gay; 

The  young  dream  of  a  happy  time, 

The  days  that  are  ahead, 
The  aged  dream  of  the  happy  past, 

That  rest  among  the  dead. 

And  why  should  we  not  let  life 

Flow  on  in  the  course  it  will 
And  only  guide  our  little  bark, 

To  the  waters  that  are  peaceful  and  still. 
For  tho'  we  struggle  as  we  may, 

All  through  this  dreamy  life, 
We  can  but  land  our  little  bark, 

Beyond  the  sea  of  strife. 

But  let  us  carry  our  light  along, 

Tho'  we  walk  as  if  in  sleep, 
That  some  little  bark  may  see  the  glow, 

When  they  in  darkness  weep. 
May  the  bright  dreams  that  youth  doth  see, 

So  far  out  now  ahead, 
When  they  are  passed,  O !  may  they  be 

As  a  halo  by  heaven  shed. 

[16] 


LOVE  AND  FRIENDSHIP. 

If  you  have  a  friend, 

Try   not   for   to   make, 
A  love  of  him, 

For  the  tie  it  may  break. 
For  love  doth  unwind, 

The  cord  that's  been  true, 
Tho'  it  has  held  fast, 

Love  can  it  undo. 

Friendship  may  be  wound 

Round  and  round  to  stay, 
But   love   can   undo, 

For  it  turns  another  way. 
Love  is  so  determined, 

To  be  the  one  king, 
That  he  will  not  allow, 

You  to  another  cling. 

Now  if  you  find  friendship, 

And  love  side  by  side, 
Do  not  twine  them  there, 

For  some  one  has  it  tried. 
They   found   it   not   tempered, 

They  would  break,  yes,  or  melt, 
They  would  not  cling  together, 

O!  no,  they  would  not  weld. 


[17] 


LOVE  IS  SELFISH. 

Love  does  not  ask  for  a  room, 

Inside  of  a  pure  heart, 
O!  no,  he  wants  the  house, 

Himself  can  fill  every  part. 
The  house  may  be  large  and  wide, 

Or  it  may  be  poor  and  small, 
But  love  will  not  with  others   divide, 

He  wants  every  room,  yes,  all. 

Duty  may  stand  at  the  door  and  knock, 

And  ask  for  shelter  and  bread, 
But  love  will  only  pass  out  the  crumbs, 

He  will  not  shelter  his  head. 
A  family  may  be  large, 

Or  it  may  be  few,  just  small, 
But  one  house  is  not  large  enough, 

To  shelter  two  tho'  it's  tall. 

Love  does  not  plead  with  duty  and  show, 

Why  he  will  not  with  him  abide, 
Tho'   the   house   is   large   enough   it   seems, 

Love  will  not  in  duty  confide. 
Duty  may  have  builded  the  house, 

And  decked  the  rooms  so  gay, 
But  when  love  has  gained  an  entrance  there, 

Duty  is  driven  away. 


[18] 


HOME. 

I  wish  to  tell  to  the  world  around, 
About  a  place  but  few  have  found, 
Sometimes  its  found  out  in  a  grove, 
Where  father  and  mother  their  children  love; 
A  joy  within  it  we  can  claim, 
If  self  has  not  our  love  there  slain. 

There  is  but  few  things  here  below, 
But  what  have  seen  a  glimpse  to  show, 
The  wild  beasts  of  the  forest  know, 
In  time  of  danger  when  to  go; 
And  the  old  dog  after  the  chase, 
Returns,  O !  yes,  to  the  same  place. 

The  birds  must  find  shelter  from  view, 
The  little  nest  built  by  those  two ; 
The  beauty  of  this  place  cannot  be  seen 
From  the  outside,  for  love  is  the  screen ; 
And  those  who  dwell  inside  can  view, 
And  tell  you  about  the  beautiful  hue. 

Now  I'll  give  you  the  name  and  you'll  know, 

If  ever  you  see  it  the  truth  it  will  show; 

It  is  the  place  most  things  love  best, 

Because  in  it  they  find  shelter  and  rest ; 

We  may  be  delighted  over  the  world,  yes,  to  roam, 

But  there  is  no  joy  like  returning  back  home. 


[19] 


THE  BRIGHT  FLOWERS. 

The  brightest  flowers  are  those  that  fade, 

They  are  the  soonest  cast, 
They  are  thrown  aside,  yes,  when, 

Their  beauty  has  all  passed. 
Why  do  we  pluck  the  flowers? 

Those  that  are  most  fair, 
It  is  alone  for  their  beauty, 

No  fruit  is  growing  there. 

If  flowers  are  plucked  and  faded, 

And  lie  withered  and  dead, 
Some  may  be  cherished, 

For  the  sake  of  a  fragrance  shed. 
Beauty  must  have  something  more, 

For  it  will  fade  away, 
The  world  takes  it  as  a  pastime, 

They  only  with  it  play. 

If  you  have  a  beauty, 

That  is  sought  much  by  the  world, 
Remember  time  will  take  it, 

And  away  from  you  it  is  hurled. 
If  the  flowers  bloom  out  to-day, 

Do  not  pluck  them  now  and  cast 
Them  to  the  ground  to  perish, 

Not  till  seed  time  is  all  past. 


[20] 


BACK  TO  THE  OLD  EARTH. 

Back  to  the  old  earth  all  things  must  go, 
The  rich  and  the  great,  the  high  and  the  low ; 
One  may  climb  upward  and  soar  very  high, 
But  in  the  end  on  the  earth  they  will  lie. 

Man  in  the  beginning  was  made  of  the  dust, 
And  still  he  doth  cling  to  and  in  it  now  trust; 
He  digs  in  it  daily  to  bring  forth  his  bread, 
And  back  to  the  earth  go  the  tears  he  hath  shed. 

There  is  a  spirit  in  man  that  was  given, 
Not  of  this  earth,  it  came  down  from  heaven — 
And  it  has  long  tried  to  gain  the  best  part, 
Of  man  who  has  fallen  and  give  him  a  heart. 

Of  what  we  have  seen  by  traveling  this  way, 
We  know  that  the  world  is  going  back  to  clay; 
The  trees  that  grow  tall  and  the  leaves  that  do  play,. 
Fall  to  the  ground  and  are  carried  away. 

If  man  in  the  beginning  had  held  what  he  gained, 

And  not  sold  himself  to  the  flesh  as  is  claimed ; 

He  might  have  been  able  to  travel  right  on, 

And  not  have  gone  back  to  the  place  where  he  was  born. 

His  spirit  it  claimeth  a  home  in  the  sky, 
But  the  flesh  is  content  in  the  earth  to  lie ; 
If  we  now  expect  a  height  here  to  gain, 
We  should  not  resign  to  the  flesh  not  a  claim. 

[21] 


THE  GOLDEN  CORD. 

There  is  a  golden  cord, 

Love  passes  from  his  hand, 
That  is  why  so  many  homes 

On  a  foundation  stand. 
They  feel  that  love  is  passing, 

And  they  the  cord  doth  clutch, 
And  bind  it  round  to  hold, 

They  feel  love's  loss  so  much. 

And  'ere  they  are  aware, 

The  cord  is  bound  each  thread, 
They  know  that  love  is  past, 

But  honor  is  not  dead. 
And  it  will  hold  we  know, 

For  it  has  oft  been  tried, 
Through  all  the  ups  and  downs, 

And  out  on  the  ocean  wide. 

For  many  love  has  set  free, 

When  a  home  they  have  made, 
But  they  preferred  unhappiness, 

Than  that  honor  should  lay  in  the  shade. 
Many  things  have  counterfeits, 

And  honor  has  one  too, 
But  ofttimes  we  are  deceived, 

Until  it  is  proved  true. 


[22] 


LOVE  AS  A  FIRE  THAT  GLOWS. 

Love  does  not  come  in  the  night, 

A  groping  for  the  door, 
A  begging  for  shelter  and  bread, 

O !  no,  love  is  not  poor. 
He  never  walks  in  the  dark, 

He  carries  his  light  along, 
And  it  doth  shine  into  the  heart, 

And  awakes  a  new  sweet  song. 

Love  does  not  ask  for  a  home, 

He  forces,  yes,  his  way, 
Tho'  ofttimes  when  he  enters 

He  is  not  asked  to  stay. 
He  quickly  leaves  the  heart, 

When  he  no  good  can  find, 
He  will  not  stay  with  one 

Who  treats  him  so  unkind. 

The  heart  has  never  found 

A  lock  that  is  secure, 
That  cannot  be  undone, 

By  love  which  is  so  pure. 
He  does  not  ofttimes  leave  alone, 

The  cabin  in  the  lane, 
Ask  the  inmates  for  the  truth, 

They  will  tell  that  he  has  been. 

Love  is  like  a  fire  that  burns, 
As  long  as  the  fuel  lasts, 

[23] 


But  when  it  is  withdrawn, 

Its  glory  is  all  past. 
And  if  you  wish  for  love  to  stay, 

Keep  the  heart's  door  open  wide, 
And  if  you  have  a  fear, 

In  him  you  must  confide. 

As  a  cinder  hard  and  cold, 

When  the  fire  is  dead, 
So  the  warmth  is  all  gone, 

When  love  from  the  heart  has  fled. 
The  heart  that  is  now  dead, 

Will  not  receive  the  glow, 
Tho'  honor  near  doth  stand, 

Doth  not  the  world  this  show. 


FRIENDS  THAT  ARE  TRUE. 

Speak  of  friends  kindly,  those  that  are  dead, 

Tell  of  the  light  they  once  o'er  us  shed; 

Praise  them,  oh  yes,  praise  them  to-day, 

For  they  in  the  graveyard  quietly  lay ; 

They  cannot  hear  us,  but  if  they  do, 

It  does  not  affect  them  as  some  we  once  knew. 

They  may  know  of  the  love  we  do  feel, 

But  they  will  not  away  from  us  quietly  steal; 

And  leave  us  alone  in  the  cold  world  to  stray, 

[24] 


Oh,  no,  they  are  there,  they  quietly  lay; 

We  may  go  to  their  grave  and  tell  of  our  grief, 

And  ofttimes  it  gives  a  quiet  relief. 

The  friends  that  are  dead  are  the  ones  that  we  know 

Will  not  forsake  us  though  far  off  we  go, 

They  will  not  leave  us  and  wander  away; 

Oh,  no,  they  will  never  away  from  us  stray ; 

They  are  close  by  our  side  sweet  memory  to  claim, 

And  there  they  abide  through  misery  and  shame. 

Now  if  you  have  wandered  away  from  right, 
Remember  your  friends,  remember  them  to-night, 
And  perhaps  they  will  show  you  a  glimpse  of  the  past, 
That  will  save  you  from  falling  though  you  have  just  cast 
AH  hope  from  your  hand,  you  have  let  it  all  go. 
And  why  should  you  not  your  friendship  now  show. 


YOUTH'S  YOUNG  MORNING. 

I  love  youth's  young  morning  in  the  first  pure  dawn, 
Of  its  awakening  of  its  bright  sunny  morn; 
Of  what  a  pleasure  to  think  is  ahead, 
What  will  noon  be  when  it  is  shed. 

The  joy  that  is  awakened  in  youth's  bright  morn, 
The  thought  of  a  load  that  has  not  been  borne; 
Are  more  aspiring  than  to  attain, 
A  purpose  in  life  without  love's  pure  gain. 

[25] 


Cherish  the  morning  and  keep  it  still  young, 
Let  the  joys  of  youth  always  be  sung ; 
Keep  your  love  in  morning's  bright  glow, 
For  if  it  has  passed  the  noontide  it  will  go. 

Do  not  hurry  love  too  much  on  his  way, 

But  try  to  induce  him  his  steps  for  to  stay; 

For  if  he  passes  the  noontide  too  soon, 

The  decline  will  come  on  and  then  there  will  be  gloom. 

It  is  better  never  to  know  the  bright  dawn, 
Of  love  in  his  youth  if  noon  brought  a  storm ; 
How  many  would  wish  for  the  noon's  glorious  ray, 
If  they  knew  how  quickly  it  would  vanish  away. 

After  the  noon  there  is  ever  a  decline, 
The  sun  has  passed  on  the  other  side  to  shine ; 
You  may  not  be  ready  for  it  to  reveal, 
The  scars  and  batters  you  try  to  conceal. 

There  is  always  a  shadow  somewhere  cast, 
When  the  sun  has  quite  an  object  passed; 
It  is  always  better  to  keep  on  youth's  side, 
Where  the  sunbeams  have  opened  their  flowers  wide. 

Many  things  in  youth  love  can  conceal, 
While  old  age  the  defects  surely  will  reveal; 
If  you  wish  to  be  happy  keep  love  young, 
Let  him  ever  expect  the  noonday's  bright  sun. 


[26] 


LOVE  TREE. 

You  say  that  you  love  me,  but  how  do  I  know ; 
It  is  only  guess  work  for  the  world  doth  show, 
As  we  look  around  us  for  a  spark  to  trace, 
The  smile  that  once  shone  on  this  sad  face. 

Do  not  give  to  the  glow  the  name  called  love, 

Until  you  know  it  came  from  above; 

For  ofttimes  we  see  the  dewdrops  at  morn, 

Appear  as  jewels  a  bride  to  adorn; 

But  when  the  wind  shatters  them  all  down, 

They  mingle  at  once  with  the  cold  damp  ground. 

Now  as  you  stand  with  your  face  all  aglow, 

And  ask  for  my  hand,  how  do  I  know, 

Has  not  others  those  same  words  told; 

Have  they  not  vowed  they  were  pure  as  gold? 

But  now  when  we  meet  them  we  think  they  are  dead- 

They  are  only  part  of  an  old  dry  shed. 

If  what  you  think  is  love  to-day, 

Was  by  the  object  cast  away; 

Would  you  not  gather  the  scattered  ray, 

And  offer  it  anew  another  day? 

We  cannot  tell  if  love  it  should  be 

By  the  leaves  that  grow  on  the  beautiful  tree. 

It  is  only  through  patience  the  love  we  can  see, 
Growing  as  fruit  on  a  high,  high  tree; 
When  love  first  appears  it  seems  the  same, 

[27] 


That  youth  called  the  heaven-born  flame; 
But  patiently  wait  and  the  fruit  you  will  see, 
Growing  high  up,  out  of  reach  it  will  be. 

Many  have  fallen  the  tree  to  gain, 
The  fruit  growing  on  it,  but  it  remained ; 
Too  high  for  one  so  low  in  mind, 
So  they  must  possess  a  different  kind ; 
Love  is  a  shield  that  seeks  to  save, 
And  raise  one  higher  than  a  slave. 


BLENDING  OF  WINTER  AND  SPRING. 

We  sang,  for  we  thought  King  Winter  was  gone , 

The  birds  echoed  our  voice  all  along; 

The  trees  had  shone  that  they  were  glad, 

Though  King  Winter  moaned  so  sad. 

As  he  a  parting  frown  just  cast, 

Over  his  shoulder  as  he  passed; 

Little  we  knew  of  his  intent, 

For  we  thought  that  his  power  was  spent. 

So  we  lay  down  on  our  beds  to  rest ; 

The  winds  gently  blew  and  the  breeze  caressed ; 

The  trees  must  have  been  talking,  too, 

And  if  we  had  just  then  knew, 

[28] 


What  they  were  saying  when  the  clouds  were  spread 
Over  the  sky  as  the  dewdrops  were  shed; 
The  flowers  had  opened  that  they  might  receive 
The  dewdrops  that  heaven  alone  can  give. 

We  slept  on  peacefully  and  there  lay, 

Until  the  break  of  a  bright  new  day ; 

Then  we  woke  up  with  a  chill  and  a  start, 

For  we  felt  sure  that  from  something  we  must  part. 

There  was  such  a  chill  we  thought  of  the  dead, 

And  quickly  arising  from  our  bed 

We  opened  the  doors  and  there  met  our  view 

A  mantle  of  snow  instead  of  the  dew. 

King  Winter  had  just  now  stepped  down, 

As  he  was  forced  to  resign  his  crown ; 

Oh,  why  should  he  such  malice  show, 

When  leaving  the  things  he  could  not  make  grow? 

As  to  cast  his  deadening  smile, 

Over  the  green  and  smiling  isle  ; 

As  so  many  in  the  world  you  may  find, 

Which  is  of  King  Winter's  mind. 

But  the  sight  was  worth  the  while, 
To  even  resign  Spring's  sweet  smile ; 
For  the  scene  before  us  made  us  think  of  the  gate 
That  is  open  for  the  pure  in  the  heavenly  state. 
The  trees  were  covered  in  silver  and  green, 
And  diamonds  and  emeralds  all  woven  between ; 
The  scene  was  so  charming  we  wish  not  to  awake, 
A  sweet  summer  breeze,  lest  its  glory  it  would  take. 

[29] 


We  watched  this  scene  charmed  by  the  sight, 

As  the  sun  in  its  glory  shed  forth  its  light; 

That  warmed  up  the  breeze  that  murmured  and  fell — 

That  shattered  the   diamonds   and  emeralds   as  well. 

We  stood  still  charmed  as  the  sun  shown  how 

He  did  adorn  nature's  fair  brow ; 

But  his  smiles  were  too  late  for  to  save, 

The  flowers  from  their  snow  white  grave. 

But,  oh,  how  grand  it  must  be  to  die, 

In  such  beauty  and  springtime  so  nigh ; 

All  things  wept  as  the  change  came  on, 

The  birds  even  whispered  a  sad  sweet  song. 

Many  sweet  flowers  that  had  bloomed  the  day  before, 

Lay  there  limp,  their  sweet  life  was  o'er; 

Oh,  why  should  we  weep  for  the  flowers  that  are  dead, 

When  death  in  such  glory  such  sweet  fragrance  shed? 


HOPE. 

Hope  like  an  anchor  holdeth  fast, 

That  we  may  be  able  the  lifeboat  to  cast ; 

Hope  is  not  only  an  anchor  to  stay, 

But  it  is  the  compass  that  points  out  the  way. 

Hope  is  not  bought  and  sold  here  for  gain, 

But  it  is  given  that  we  may  yet  obtain, 

The  price  that  is  given  if  we  here  endure, 

Until  the  end  and  keep  the  heart  pure. 

[30] 


There  would  be  no  enjoyment  here  below, 

If  there  was  no  hope  in  the  future  to  show, 

A  bright  ray  of  light  on  the  dark  way, 

Where  mortals  are  forced  in  their  weakness  to  stay. 

It  is  hope  that  holdeth  the  light  to  show 

The  way  to  the  simple  and  the  wise  who  know, 

That  it  is  given  to  all  who  here  claim, 

It  is  conqueror  when  life  has  been  slain. 

It  is  hope  that  enables  man  to  abide, 
The  struggle  of  life  and  on  the  top  ride; 
Without  it  he  would  no  purpose  here  gain, 
But  soon  he  would  be  found  with  the  slain. 
The  workman  who  toils  in  the  rough  way, 
Is  living  in  hope  that  some  future  day, 
He  may  be  able  his  purpose  to  gain, 
And  there  a  true  hope  with  him,  yes,  remain. 

The  world  it  doth  change,  yes,  every  day, 
The  seasons  they  come  but  they  cannot  stay; 
But  hope  it  is  here  and  will  be  till  the  last, 
O !  yes,  it  will  be  the  last  thing  to  pass. 
When  the  world  is  sunken  out  of  sight, 
There  will  be  hope  for  those  who  are  right; 
This  joy  they  will  carry  to  the  other  side, 
And  with  them  in  heaven  it  will  there  abide. 


[31] 


HONOR  OR  LOVE. 

Love  has  no  honor  here  to  claim, 

Tho'  he  fights  the  fight  he  is  never  slain ; 

You  may  him  take  into  your  heart, 

And  give  to  him  the  ruling  part. 

And  there  he  will  his  power  show, 

And  hold  out  firm  against  the  foe; 

Until  he  sees  a  better  place, 

Tis  then  in  vain  you  may  him  chase. 

Tis  honor  that  doth  follow  on  yes,  fast, 
When  love  his  radiant  smile  has  cast ; 
He  comes  on  with  his  cord  of  gold. 
And  round  the  tower  he  doth  it  fold. 
That  they  may  still  appear  to  be, 
One  in  soul  that  the  world  may  see; 
They  know  the  charm  of  love  is  dead, 
But  honor  has  not  from  them  fled. 

'Tis  much  better  to  be  bound, 
With  honor  than  to  rove  around; 
When  love  has  passed  out  of  sight, 
For  one  is  left  without  the  light. 
It  is  much  better  not  to  see, 
Than  from  the  light  be  forced  to  flee , 
For  there  is  darkness  all  around, 
Where  love  or  reason  is  not  found. 


[32] 


SELF'S  EYEGLASSES. 

Self  has  eyeglasses 

That  enlarge  one  way, 
And  diminish  in  another; 

They  have  power  to  slay. 
He  twists  and  turns  them 

To  show  to  the  world, 
That  he  is  the  banner, 

Himself  has  unfurled. 

He  sees  his  work, 

As  a  mountain  high; 
Builded  by  himself 

Almost   to   the   sky. 
He   sees  himself 

As  the  one  who  stands, 
And  holds  the  world 

As  if  in  his  own  hands. 

He  is  sure  to  see 

The  mistakes  that  are  made, 
By  others  who  tried 

When  success  it  was  stayed. 
But  if  there  is  one 

Who  succeeds  in  a  way, 
He  claims  the  honor 

Without  delay. 

[33] 


His  works  is  the  greatest 

That  ever  was  done, 
His  yarns  are  the  best 

That  ever  were  spun. 
There  never  was  a  great  work, 

Finished  or  begun; 
But  if  self  had  been  there 

A   place   had   he   won. 

He  knows  the  weakness 

Of   others,   but    he 
Has  not  the  eyeglasses 

His  falseness  to  see. 
We  call  him  a  coward, 

A  sneak  and  a  knave; 
But  what,  alas! 

Are  we  not  his  slave? 

Do  we  look  on  others 
As  the  sunbeams  that  glow, 

And  try  by  the  light 

The  good  traits  to  show? 

Or  do  we  as  a  shadow 
Our  own  self  there  stand, 

In  the  way  of  the  light 

That  falls  o'er  the  land. 


[34] 


FILL  YOUR  OWN  PLACE. 

We  strike  the  cord  of  praise,  yes,  when, 
We  see  the  work  of  noble  men, 
Who  labor  in  the  field  so  wide, 
When  who  can  face  the  foaming  tide ; 
Men  who  do  not  their  duty  shirk, 
But  with  much  courage  do  their  work. 

There  is  but  one  place  for  man  to  fill, 
Tho'  he  puts  forth  all  his  skill, 
His  work  may  be  from  shore  to  shore, 
Yet  there  is  room  for  many  more ; 
To  labor  in  the  field  so  wide, 
To  labor,  yes,  there  side  by  side. 

You  need  not  think  that  you  can  do, 
Another's  work  when  it  you  view, 
You  are  not  asked  tho'  you  have  skill, 
Another's  place  on  earth  to  fill; 
It  is  your  own  work  here  will  show, 
If  you  did  stand  or  forward  go. 

There  is  room,  yes,  in  front  we  know, 
And  now  is  the  time  your  skill  to  show, 
The  enemy  is  there  the  ones  to  kill, 
Who  enter  near  without  the  skill; 
That  is  given  to  all  by  the  hand  above, 
Who  their  place  fill  and  a  good  work  love. 

[35] 


THE  EYES  TELL  THE  STORY. 

Look  into  the  eyes  of  those  you  meet 

And  read  in  them  each  day 
The  language  of  the  heart 

And  hear  what  they  have  to  say. 
For  the  tongue  is  ofttimes  telling 

What  the  eyes  cannot  but  deny, 
The  tongue  can  frame  deceipt 

But  the  eyes,  they  cannot  lie. 

Many  say  they  are  happy, 

Contented,  yes,  and  free; 
But,  hush,  the  eyes  are  talking, 

Listen  and  hear  what  it  be ! 
Ofttimes  we  hear  laughing, 

The  jesters  we  ofttimes  see; 
And  if  the  eyes  were  silent, 

We  would  think  they  were  happy  and  free. 

One  can  show  to  the  world, 

Only  the  sunny  side; 
But  if  they  expect  to  deceive  it, 

The  eyes  they  must  surely  hide. 
For  they  can  undo  in  a  moment, 

All  the  labor  of  the  past; 
They  can  bind  the  words  in  a  bundle, 

And  forth  to  the  wind  they  are  cast. 

[36] 


If  your  lover  seeketh  your  hand, 

And  his  voice  be  low  and  sweet; 
Look  into  his  eyes  the  truth  to  gain, 

For  they  cannot  frame  deceit. 
The  jester  may  laugh  and  say, 

He  believes  there  is  no  God ; 
But  look  in  his  eyes  and  see, 

He  fears  the  chastening  rod. 

The  world  sings  as  if  it  was  happy, 

But  is  it  trying  to  get  relief ; 
The  eyes  express  it  plainly, 

They  show  in  silence  their  grief. 
They  are  the  X-rays  of  the  heart, 

They  the  record  there  do  keep; 
It  is  written  there  plainly  for  all, 

They  only  conceal  it  in  sleep. 

The  tongue  may  brag  of  to-morrow, 

And  tell  of  expected  gain; 
But  what  was  done  yesterday, 

The  eyes  in  them  now  retain. 
The  tongue  doth  change  its  voice, 

It  can  speak  soft  and  low; 
But  the  eyes  have  but  one  language, 

And  the  truth  in  them  doth  show. 


[37] 


SEPTEMBER. 

O !  hush,  it  is  September, 

The   breezes   whisper   low; 
The  trees  are  waving  and  nodding, 

The  leaves  down,  down  they  go. 
It  is  a  sad  time  to-day, 

Not  that  we  wish  it  is  gone; 
For  it  would  leave  the  world  colder 

Than  when  it  was  first  born. 

If  it  would   last  forever, 

We  would  wish  for  it  to  stay ; 
But  when  the  nuts  are  showered  down, 

They  must  be  stored  away. 
The  scenes  around  us  speak 

Of  a  cold  bleak  winter's  day; 
O !  yes,  the  breezes  tell  us, 

That   it  is   now  on   its   way. 

The  trees  have  changed  their  dress  of  green, 

Because  the  nights  were  cold; 
They  have  put  on  red  and  purple, 

And  some  are  robed  in  gold. 
You  would  admire  its  dressing, 

If  you  saw  its  robe  to-day; 
But,  alas !  how  soon  it  will  change, 

To  its  cold  sober  gray. 

[38] 


Many  admire  September, 

When  the  nights  are  cool  and  sweet; 
After  the  summer  has  passed, 

After  its  boiling  heat. 
And  its  is  nice  to  see, 

The  trees  all  loaded  down 
With  fruit  instead  of  flowers, 

And  some  have  on  their  brown. 

The  sun  has  changed  his  course, 

He  is  going  back  to  see 
Where  the  flowers  grow  in  winter, 

And  the  birds  sing  on  so  free. 
If  I  had  wings  like  a  bird, 

I  would  follow  its  bright  ray; 
I  would  go  to  the  south  land, 

And  let  the  fruit  just  lay. 


THE  LASTING  FLOWERS. 

The  flowers  we  cherish  in  youth's  sunny  morn, 
Are  withered  and  perished,  they  are  faded  and  gone ; 
Perished  are  the  joys  of  our  young  days, 
But  still  in  our  memory  we  offer  them  praise. 

The  flowers  that  fade  when  the  summer  is  gone, 
Are  emblems  of  what  we  are  when  we  are  born ; 

[39] 


So  we  are  to  be  cared  for  and  kept  in  the  sun, 
Or  else  the  bright  youth  is  faded  and  gone. 

The  flowers  that  bloom  so  early  in  morn, 

Are  cast  forth  and  withered  when  the  sun  has  but  shone ; 

So  perished  are  the  joys  we  cherished  in  youth, 

Those  which  will  last  are  virtue  and  truth. 


DO  YOUR  BEST. 

Give  the  best  you  have  to  the  world, 

Let  the  fountain  flow; 
For  if  you  stint  it  now, 

It  may  never  wish  to  grow. 
Open  the  heart,  yes,  wide, 

For  the  good  that  you  can  do; 
But  close  it  against  all  evil, 

And  bar  the  door  too. 

A  thing  that  is  worth  doing, 

Is  worthy  a  trial  to  obtain ; 
The  highest  place  of  achievement, 

The  top,  if  there  is  one  to  gain. 
Give  to  the  world  what  you  have, 

Put  forth  the  best  you  know, 
And  sooner  or  later  in  life, 

The  fruit  of  it  will  show. 


You  need  not  be  afraid, 

To  put  forth  your  skill  and  art; 
Lest  you  should  fail  to  attain, 

Or  in  your  good  work  fall  short. 
Doing  good  pays  back  the  interest, 

That  you  may  buy  a  fresh  store; 
It  increases  each  day  that  you  labor, 

It  accumulates  more  and  more. 


THE  LITTLE  BOAT. 

There  was  a  little  boat  out  on  the  tide, 
And  in  it  sat  two,  side  by  side; 
The  wind  blew  high, 

And  the  little  boat  tossed; 
The  tide  was  strong, 

O!  will  it  be  lost? 

Surely  not,  though  the  wind  and  tide, 
Seem  so  determined  those  two  to  divide; 
For  the  hand  was  strong 

That  held  the  oar, 
And  he  pulled  straight 

For  the  other  shore. 

This  little  boat  stemming  the  tide 
With  the  two  sitting  there,  side  by  side, 
In  this  boat  sailing  out, 

[41] 


There   is   no  room 
To  give  to  others, 
Just  enough  for  home. 

But  in  the  heart  of  those  two  side  by  side, 
There  is  room  enough  and  love  to  provide ; 
For  the  little  ones  sent 

By  the  hand  above, 
To  knit  together 

This  cord  of  love. 

How  many  little  boats  thus  laden 
Will  reach  at  last  the  true  haven, 
With  all  the  cargo 

God  doth  give 
Will  reach  at  last 

Where  the  angels  live? 


VIEWING  AHEAD. 

A  sailor  stood  on  the  shore  one  morn, 

As  the  tide  came  rushing  in; 
Why  do  you  gaze  and  stare  about, 

Why  don't  your  sailing  begin? 
You  see,  said  he,  as  he  pointed  out, 

Over  the  foaming  sea  beyond, 
I  do  not  wish  to  lose  my  ship, 

Nor  the  cargo,  and  he  frowned. 

[42] 


So  you  must  wait  for  the  tide  to  turn, 

Though  you  think  it  is  a  waste  of  time; 
You  cannot  stem  the  raging  sea, 

Though  you  think  your  power  sublime. 
There  is  always  a  time  to  start  and  stop, 

And  the  thing  for  us  to  know, 
Is  just  when  and  where  to  make  a  start, 

And  where  and  which  way  to  go. 

So  stand  on  the  shore  and  view  far  out, 

Be  ready  to  hear  the  -call, 
"All  on  board,  the  tide  has  turned!" 

Be  ready  to  stand  or  fall. 
There  is  no  time  to  wait, 

When  the  tide  starts  out  from  shore ; 
Your  work  will  not  be  so  hard, 

But  ply  yourself  to  the  oar. 

The  sailor  knows  his  work, 

And  the  working  of  the  sea, 
And  why  should  not  each  one  know 

What  his  work  here  should  be? 
If  each  one  would  take  hold  of  what 

He  is  best  fitted  for, 
And  not  attempt  to  draw  a  load, 

Unless  he  knew  just  where. 

The  world  is  like  a  troubled  sea, 
And  seems  quite  out  of  place; 

[43] 


So  many  are  just  running  round, 

That  know  not  of  the  chase. 
There  are  so  many  who  collide 

In  one  way  or  another; 
There  are  no  two  who  are  side  by  side, 

Not  even  a  sister  and  brother. 

There  is  no  waiting  on  this  shore, 

For  the  tide  to  come  in; 
They  plunge  into  the  foaming  sea, 

And  many  are  drowned  in  sin. 
Why  can't  they  show  the  sense, 

The  sailors  do  who  stand 
And  wait  for  the  tide  to  turn, 

When  he  knows  the  strength  of  his  hand  ? 


A  WANDERER. 

If  you  are  out  on  the  mountain  bare, 

Away  off  in  the  cold; 
Come  back  to  Jesus  while  you  may, 

Come  back  to  the  Shepherd's  fold. 

You  need  not  think  He  has  forgot, 
The  souls  he  died  to  save; 

He  calls  for  those  who  shed  His  blood, 
He  calls  for  the  warriors  brave. 

[44] 


You  may  be  out  in  a  desert  bare, 
You  may  be  bound  with  sin; 

Still  He  is  calling  now  for  you; 
He  has  opened  the  door,  come  in. 


FAMILY  LOVE. 

Love  was  not  born  in  heaven  above, 
As  many  claim  to  have  known  love ; 
He  was  born  amid  disgrace, 
He  was  born  for  human  race. 

When  man  had  eaten  of  the  tree 
That  robbed  him  of  his  purity, 
There  was  no  chance  for  him  to  stand 
Above  the  beasts  that  roamed  the  land. 

For  he  had  lost  the  image  quite 
Of  God  who  made  him  pure  and  right, 
And  then  was  love  born  there  to  save 
The  man  who  had  become  a  slave. 

Now  love  has  fought  on  every  side 
To  save  him  from  the  gulf  so  wide, 
Where  many  who  mistook  the  charm 
And  fallen  into  sin's  strong  arm. 

[45] 


Now  watch  for  the  love  that  comes 
And  turns  you  from  fair  duty's  charms, 
This  is  not  the  love  to  court 
Who  only  wants  a  game  of  sport. 

But  love  that  is  for  this  earth  given 
Is  the  one  that  can  build  a  home  in  heaven, 
So  you  must  look  up  if  love  you  see, 
For  he  is  high  and  pure  and  free. 


THE  WANDERING  GIRL. 

We  read  of  the  wandering  boy, 

Who  gathered  half  of  his  father's  wealth ; 

Who  packed  it  up  in  a  bundle, 
And  carried  it  off  for  himself. 

But  what  of  the  wandering  girl, 
They   went   off  together   they   say ; 

He  promised  to  love  and  cherish, 
And  from  her  never  to  stray. 

She  was  not  a  sister  you  see, 
That  is  what  the  neighbors  said; 

The  family  mourned  her  as  lost, 
They  thought  her  surely  dead. 

[46] 


The  days  passed  by  as  a  dream, 

To  those  who  are  happy  and  free ; 
But  they  drag  along  slowly  to  one 
Bound  in  chains  as  she. 

She  thought  of  the  home  she  had  left, 
But  she  did  not  think  of  return ; 

For  she  knew  her  father  well, 
She  knew  he  was  cold  and  stern. 

So  many  a  girl  in  purity, 

Has  wandered  away  from  home; 
Dreaming  that  it  was  love  that  was  calling, 

She  listened  to  the  man  who  said  come. 

And  when  he  came  to  himself, 

He  left  her  and  went  home; 
He  left  her  out  in  a  strange  land, 

He  left  her  there  to  roam. 

So  he  goes  back  there  to  greet 

His  friends  of  by-gone  days ; 
He  receives  flattery  and  tolerance, 

And  some  even  offer  him  praise. 

They  think  there  is  something  in  him, 
So  the  world  offers  him  a  chance ; 

But  upon  the  poor  wandering  girl, 
The  world  does  not  even  glance. 

[47] 


So  if  you  are  a  girl  do  not  wander, 
Away  from  your  home  if  it  is  poor; 

For  if  you  suffer  disgrace, 
You  cannot  return  any  more. 


VIEWING  BACKWARD. 

I  wish  it  was  morning  if  I  could  but  retrace, 
The  steps  that  went  wrong  in  life's  rugged  chase ; 
I  wish  when  backward  glancing  I  might  see, 
A  path  leading  upward  and  straight  as  can  be. 

I  wish  it  was  morning  if  I  could  but  reclaim, 
The  precious  time  wasted  in  pleasures  and  shame; 
If  I  could  but  show  to  the  world  below, 
That  life  has  a  purpose  that  all  ought  to  know. 

I  wish  it  was  morning  that  I  might  start  again, 
On  life's  rough  road  I  would  not  refrain 
From  trying  life  over  and  beginning  back  again, 
When  I  see  what  I  have  lost  by  trifling  with  sin. 

I  wish  it  was  morning  and  the  pure  sunlight, 
Would  shine  into  glory  and  show  me  the  right; 
I  would  start  life  over  when  I  saw  it  was  clear, 
That  the  day  before  me  would  bring  me  bright  cheer. 


[48] 


THE  HAND  THAT  ROCKS  THE  CRADLE. 

The  hand  that  now  the  cradle  sway, 
Is  the  hand  that  rules  the  world  to-day; 
This  is  what  we  have  read  and  heard  men  say, 
But  surely  not  in  this  fast  day. 

How  many  mothers  now  do  stand, 
And  rock  the  cradle  with  her  own  hand ; 
Has  she  not  many  things  to  do, 
That  take  her  out  of  baby's  view? 

The  cradle  is  now  swayed  to-day, 
By  a  servant's  hand  who  works  for  pay; 
How  can  this  hand  a  good  work  do, 
Who  only  have  the  pay  in  view? 

Do  you  think  it  would  the  mother  pay, 
Away  from  society  and  clubs  to  stay; 
That  she  might  win  the  baby's  love, 
And  guide  his  steps  to  heaven  above? 


[49] 


LOVE  AND  YOUTH. 

Love  and  youth  walk  hand  in  hand, 
They  'mid  troubles  together  stand ; 
Youth  is  made  by  love  more  strong, 
They  can  endure  a  conflict  long. 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  behold, 
Those  warriors  who  are  ever  bold ; 
When  they  hand  in  hand  face  on  the  field, 
An  enemy  he  is  forced  to  yield. 

If  you  are  young  and  wish  to  gain, 
A  victory  or  a  noble  name; 
Take  love  as  your  companion  free, 
In  war  he  will  not  from  you  flee. 

Love  does  not  join  with  you  to  stand, 
Then  leave  you  in  a  foreign  land; 
O!  no,  he  will  with  you  abide, 
Down  to  death's  cold  flowing  tide. 

An  enemy  cannot  from  you  sever, 
Love  will  abide  with  you  forever; 
Your  hand  alone  the  tie  can  break, 
You  have  the  power  a  home  to  make. 

[50] 


GOING  TO  DO. 

Going  to  do  is  something  that  is  said, 

It  looms  in  the  future  and  hides  what's  ahead; 

We  cannot  do  things  we  should  do  to-day, 

For  thinking  of  to-morrow  and  what's  in  the  way. 

We  all  expect  to  do  something  grand, 

But,  O !  alas,  it  is  never  at  hand ; 

It  is  easy  to  do  something  to-morrow, 

Than  to  do  it  to-day  tho'  it  cause  much  sorrow. 

The  great  things  in  the  future  we  view, 

But  those  that  are  worthless  are  the  things  that  we  do ; 

We  see  bright  prospects  ahead  it  is  true, 

But  when  they  come  near  they  are  lost  to  the  view. 

Many  who  expect  to  soar  up  high, 
Will  not  make  a  step  to  assist  them  to  fly; 
They  expect  to-morrow  a  height  to  attain, 
But  to-day  not  a  step  upward  they  gain. 

It  is  what  we  have  done  and  what  we  now  do, 
That  is  counted  against  us  or  for  us  'tis  true ; 
We  will  be  judged  by  what  we  attain, 
For  what's  in  the  future  may  there  remain. 


[51] 


GET  READY  TO  GO. 

Stop  a  few  moments  now, 

Just  stop  awhile  and  see 
Which  way  the  tide  is  going, 

To  carry  you  out  so  free. 
Be  sure  you  see  the  course, 
In  life  you  intend  to  take, 
And  that  the  way  is  clear, 

Be  sure  there  is  no  break. 

Many  there  be  who  start, 

In  the  wrong  course  to-day; 
And  it  is  a  waste  of  time, 

And  causeth  much  delay. 
There  are  many  places. 

Where  you  can  make  from  shore; 
But  are  all  things  ready, 

Have  you  the  steady  oar? 

Many  there  be  who  are  able, 

To  sail  the  boat  from  shore; 
But  who  can  bring  it  in, 

With  only  a  broken  oar? 
Before  you  make  your  start, 

Be  sure  you  have  on  hand ; 
All  things  that  are  required, 

To  bring  the  boat  to  land. 

[52] 


THE  WANDERING  BOY. 

We  read  of  the  son  who  did  return, 
After  squandering  the  living  he  had; 

We  read  of  how  he  ate  the  husk  among  the  swine ; 
He  ate  them  for  the  lack  of  bread. 

His  suffering  brought  him  to  his  mind, 

As  among  the  swine  he  fed; 
So  I  will  return  to  my  father's  home, 

Where  the  servants  lack  no  bread. 

So  saying  he  started  on  his  way, 

A  begging  for  shelter  and  bread; 
His  father  saw  him  come  home, 

He  ran  to  meet  him  so  glad. 

He  caught  him  in  his  arms  with  joy, 

As,  oh,  my  child,  he  said ; 
I  have  long  mourned  for  thee, 

For  I  thought  thee  surely  dead. 

Oh,  father,  said  the  weary  son, 

I  do  not  ask  for  the  place  I  had ; 
Don't  you  see  I  am  starving  now, 

I  ask  only  for  some  bread. 

Oh,  bring,  said  the  father,  quick, 

The  garments  white  and  clean; 
And  place  them  on  my  lost  boy, 

For  now  his  face  I  have  seen. 

[53] 


Oh,  hurry  to  the  field  and  bring 
The  fatted  calf  I  have  kept  so  long 

Awaiting  a  joyous  time, 

When  we  could  join  in  song. 

Oh,  come  rejoice  with  me, 

My  neighbors,  one  and  all; 
For  my  son  had  wandered  far  away, 

He  was  out  of  reach  of  my  call. 

It  is  only  the  prayers  that  can  reach 

Out  for  the  wanderers  all; 
It  is  only  them  that  go  so  far, 

They  save  all  those  who  fall. 

I  think  there  is  no  pay, 

In  wandering  too  far  for  a  call; 
A  wolf  might  be  in  the  way, 

Then  there  would  be  no  chance  at  all. 


MONEY. 

Money  is  a  monarch,  this  land  it  doth  rule, 
It  conquers  the  right  man,  it  conquers  the  fool ; 
Love  ofttimes  is  bought  and  it  is  sold, 
Its  value  is  counted  in  silver  and  gold. 

[54] 


Life  and  money  stand  forth  in  the  way, 
It  is  asked  of  the  right  how  much  they  will  pay ; 
The  thief  sneaks  out  some  money  to  take, 
And  he  strikes  down  a  life  just  for  its  sake. 

The  rich  have  it  with  which  friends  they  can  gain, 
The  poor  seek  it  with  which  bread  to  obtain; 
The  young  they  are  anxious  some  money  to  make, 
And  ofttimes  they  are  tempted  some  for  to  take. 

A  lawyer  he  barters  his  knowledge  to  gain, 
The  gold  that  is  stolen  by  the  man  in  the  chain; 
He  will  give  you  advice  if  you  offer  him  gold, 
Also  to  the  man  who  money  has  stole. 

The  lawyer  he  takes  the  money  tho'  he 

Fails  in  his  attempt  his  client  to  free; 

The  money  is  paid  by  the  client  tho'  he 

Is  taken  from  the  courtroom  and  hanged  on  a  tree. 

The  doctor  comes  on  in  the  same  way, 

That  the  lawyer  has  opened  he  takes  his  pay; 

If  you  are  dead  your  gold  can't  rest, 

The  doctor  and  lawyer,  they  know  what  is  best. 

The  preacher  conies  forth  and  boldly  doth  say, 
"You  must  be  prepared  for  the  judgment  day." 
The  precious  word  he  dealeth  out  that  is  free, 
But  he  takes  all  the  money  he  can  for  his  fee. 

[55] 


There  is  no  one  that  we  can  see, 
But  what  puts  forth  a  price  or  a  fee; 
The  wicked  seek  for  it  to  gain, 
The  good   man  wish  it  to   obtain. 

Yes,  money  doth  possess  a  charm, 
It  can  be  made  of  good  or  harm; 
In  giving  forth  its  blessed  to  show, 
How  willing  we  do  let  it  go. 

But  when  it  is  held  by  a  miser's  hand, 
The  world  doth  quickly  understand; 
The  power  it  has  the  good  to  sway, 
And  the  evil  it  can  bring  forth  each  day. 


CARRY  YOUR  OWN  LIGHT. 

There  is  the  light  that  is  given 

To  the  pilgrim  on  his  way, 
It  shineth  here  to  keep 

In  the  straight  and  narrow  way. 
This  lamp  he  must  carry  himself, 

That  the  way  he  may  surely  see; 
He  cannot  walk  by  the  light  of  another, 

Tho'  bright  and  shining  it  be. 

[56] 


There  is  a  path  that  we  must  travel, 

And  a  light  that  we  may  see; 
The  path  is  straight  and  narrow, 

A  path  for  the  pure  and  free. 
In  it  there  is  no  room, 

That  another  may  walk  by  your  side, 
So  carry  the  light  yourself, 

And  follow  the  heavenly  guide. 

You  need  not  fear  another 

Will  crowd  you  out  of  the  way, 
If  you  keep  your  light  a-burning, 

And  go  right  on  your  way. 
Others  may  wish  for  you 

To   follow  the   light  they  give, 
But  you  will  surely  stumble — 

You  must  follow  the  light  you  have. 

If  one  is  truly  anxious 

To  the  world  for  to  give 
Something  of  worth  or  value, 

Just  show  them  how  to  live. 
Keep  your  light  a-burning, 

That  others  may  see  where  you  stand, 
And  not  by  your  false  light 

Be  led  into  quicksand. 


[57] 


GOING  FORWARD. 

The  world  moves  forward  towards  the  west, 
For  it  is  there  that  the  sun  sinks  to  rest. 
It  is  best  to  follow  the  course  that  the  light, 
The  path  it  has  made  in  its  homeward  flight. 

As  we  travel  onward  towards  the  west 
The  rainbow  shows  its  beautiful  crest. 
It  tells  of  a  promise  that  is  for  thee, 
Though  you  must  face  the  troubled  sea. 

In  the  morning  the  sun  gives  forth  a  glow 
That  brightens  the  clouds  in  the  west  to  show 
The  course  you  should  take  in  youth  to  gain, 
And  old  age  without  a  blot  or  a  stain. 

And  if  this  course  you  follow  till  noon 

You  will  not  wish  to  leave  it  so  soon, 

For  the  sun  will  then  be  in  front  to  show 

The  course  you  should  take  and  which  way  you  should  go. 

In  starting  one  does  not  always  see  clear 
The  path  that  is  best  nor  the  course  for  to  steer, 
But  if  the  sun  should  hide  its  bright  face, 
One's  conscience  is  there  to  shine  in  its  place. 

The  rainbow  in  the  morning  is  where  the  sun 
Will  be  in  the  evening  when  his  work  is  done ; 
So  keep  the  course  and  straightforward  go, 
And  you  will  find  there  the  sun's  evening  glow. 

[58] 


THE  BEST  PART  OF  LIFE. 

You  say  that  the  best  part  of  life  is  now  gone, 

And  no  sunbeams  has  yet  o'er  it  shone. 

Why  do  you  think  so  if  youth  was  thus  cast, 

Amid  the  dark  hours  has  it  now  been  passed? 

Do  you  take  it  for  granted  that  the  day  will  be  dark 

Because  the  morning  refused  a  bright  spark? 

When  the  morning's  bright  glory  is  overcast, 

Until  half  of  life  has  already  been  passed; 

Do  you  think  it  was  best  because  it  was  morn, 

Though  the  sun  had  not  chased  the  clouds  from  the  dawn? 

Why  not  consider  the  best  part  of  life, 

That  when  the  sun  chases  all  strife? 

We  have  all  seen  a  morning  dawn  cold, 

But  we  have  lived  in  hope  that  the  day  would  unfold 

And  reveal  a  joy,  a  warmth  unsurpassed, 

As  if  the  sun  had  saved  its  glory  to  cast 

A  sunbeam  to  pay  for  the  loss  sustained, 

Of  missing  the  morning  that  other  had  gained. 

Do  not  judge  by  the  dawn  what  the  day  will  be, 
Just  wait  and  be  patient  till  the  end  you  do  see. 
The  sun  may  be  hid  by  the  clouds  in  the  sky, 
Remove  them,  and  then  you  will  see  it  is  high. 
Work  in  faith  tho'  the  morning  be  cold, 
The  sun  may  shine  forth  with  beauty  untold. 

[59] 


The  sun  may  shine  forth  in  the  morning  so  bright, 

But  look  in  the  west  and  see  if  it  is  light, 

For  sometimes  the  sun's  morning  glow 

Reflects  on  a  dark  cloud  in  the  west  and  doth  show 

A  rainbow  in  its  glory  and  beauty  to  view, 

A  storm  raging  there,  it  is  not  made  by  the  dew. 

Youth  may  shine  forth  as  a  sunbeam  to-day, 

It  may  glisten  and  sparkle  and  around  you  play. 

Its  beauty  is  only  for  a  moment  you  might  say. 

Time  takes  it  and  scatters  it  far  away. 

For  if  your  morning  be  dark  and  cold, 

The  evening  may  shine  forth  with  beauty  untold. 

Youth  is  like  unto  the  coming  of  dawn, 
There  is  nothing  in  it  the  time  you  are  born. 
The  sunbeams  of  morn  may  dispel  the  gloom, 
But  will  it  shine  forth  after  the  noon? 
Will  the  evening  sunbeams  foretell 
Of  to-morrow,  will  it  say  all  is  well? 


ONLY  THREE  AT  THE  OLD  HOME. 

There  are  only  three  at  the  old  home  now, 

The  others  are  gay  and  glad, 
That  the  tie  is  broken  and  they  are  free, 

Away  from  the  love  they  had. 

[60] 


They  have  almost  forgotten  how, 

The  cord  around  was  cast, 
That  held  them  all  together  there, 

But  that  old  time  has  passed. 

Oh,  yes !  they  have  homes  of  their  own, 

That  takes  their  time  and  care, 
But  why  is  it  they  pass  around 

As  if  they  had  a  fear? 
That  memory  would  claim  of  them  now 

A  thought  of  the  long  past, 
So  they  rush  forward  now  in  haste, 

And  the  old  love  to  the  wind  is  cast. 

You  need  not  think  that  love  will  last, 

It  seems  that  it  was  given, 
That  all  should  have  a  little  taste 

Of  what  will  be  in  heaven. 
We  do  not  ask  for  returning  days, 

No,  we  are  going  on, 
Towards  the  reunion  up  above, 

Where  all  will  join  in  song. 

Up  in  the  home  where  the  Father  rules, 

The  mind  is  not  so  narrow, 
That  one  can't  share  the  crumbs  that  are  cast, 

Like  the  little  wild  wood  sparrow. 
All  will  understand  in  that  world  above 
>  That  the  Father  he  doth  show 
His  love  more  freely  to  those  who  have 

Been  deprived  of  the  love  below. 

[61] 


THE  GOSPEL  SHIP. 

There  is  a  ship  that  starts  to-day, 
Manned  by  a  captain  who  knows  the  way. 
His  ship  he  will  keep  and  sin  outride, 
And  carry  you  safe  to  the  other  side. 
The  angels,  too,  are  standing  round 
And  pointing  you  to  the  ship  that  is  sound. 
The  captain,  too,   is  also  near, 
A-calling  now,  oh  don't  you  you  hear? 

Why  not  take  your  passage  now? 

Jesus  in  pity  shows  you  how 

To  gain  an  entrance  that  you  may 

With  him  sail  out  far  away 

From  old  companions  that  hath  made 

You  so  doubting  and  so  'fraid; 

Oh,  make  the  starting  time  to-day, 

Oh,  sinner,  come,  with  Christ  away. 

And  quit  this  shore  where  you  have  been 
So  powerless  in  the  grasp  of  sin. 
Come,  come,  just  now  while  he  doth  give 
You  a  chance  with  him  to  live. 
Come  on  board,  oh,  sinner,  come, 
There  is  no  state-room,  it's  just  home. 
The  rich  there  have  no  place  beside, 
All  those  who  sail  together  ride. 

Many  ships  have  sailed  from  shore, 
With  captains  rich  and  captains  poor, 

[62] 


But  this  ship  has  now  on  board 

A  captain  who  was  sent  from  God. 

He  knows  the  way  so  well  doth  he, 

For  he  has  sailed  this  same  rough  sea; 

And  now  he  is  able  this  ship  to  steer 

Straight  through  the  breakers,  tho'  they  be  near. 

Oh,  come  with  him  without  delay; 
Oh,  come  to  Jesus  while  you  may, 
For  if  this  boat  away  should  sail, 
Sin  might  then  with  you  prevail; 
So  come  just  now  as  you  be, 
And  Christ  will  make  you  ever  free. 
He  calls  for  all;  he  calls  you  now, 
Come,  oh,  yes,  and  renew  your  vow. 


WORKING. 

Go  out  in  the  field  and  search  for  the  lost ; 
Go  out  in  the  field  and  bear  your  cross. 
Go  out  in  the  field  and  find  who  you  may; 
And  prepare  them,  oh,  for  the  judgment  day. 

Go  out  in  the  world  among  mankind, 
For  there  is  many  that  you  can  find 
That  are  quite  willing  their  sins  to  forsake, 
If  they  but  knew  which  way  to  take. 

[63] 


Go  out  among  the  starving  poor; 
Go  out  and  show  them  to  the  door 
Where  Jesus  sits  at  his  right  hand, 
Of  Him  who  doth  all  good  command. 

Go  out  and  work  while  you  have  time, 
For  this  great  work  is  so  sublime ; 
It  lifts  you  upward  to  the  sky; 
It  places  you  where  you  will  never  die. 


BUILDING. 

We  are  all  stones  that  are  placed 
Somewhere  in  the  world  to  fill  up  space. 
Some  are  square  and  some  are  long; 
Some  are  weak  and  some  are  strong. 
But  what  each  here  should  be — 
Firm,  and  strong,  and  true,  and  free. 
There  is  a  place  on  earth  for  all, 
Tho'  some  are  not  raised  up  so  tall. 

You  may  not  be  up  in  the  sky, 

Decked  by  an  artist's  hand  up  high, 

For  to  display  his  artist's  skill, 

And  a  high  place  on  earth  to  fill. 

You  may  be  one  down  on  the  ground, 

One  buried  in  the  sand,  but  sound, 

Still  you  fill  your  place  here, 

For  the  tower  on  you  doth  stand  forth  clear. 

[64] 


If  you  should  build  a  tower  high, 

Would  you  commence  up  in  the  sky? 

No,  the  workman,  when  he  views, 

The  pile  of  stones  he  is  to  use 

He  selects  the  largest  in  sight, 

And  places  them  for  he  knows  that  it  is  right. 

He  places  them  there  on  the  ground  to  lie, 

While  he  builds  the  tower  on  it  so  high. 

Many  stones  are  ofttimes  found 
Which  soon  mingle  with  the  ground; 
So  before  the  stone  is  builded  in  to  stand, 
They  hew  and  try  it  on  every  hand; 
And  if  it  stands  the  workman's  test, 
It  receives  the  honor  with  the  rest; 
If  it  is  smooth  and  firm,  you  see, 
The  harder  then  the  test  will  be. 

Many  towers  and  buildings  stand, 

But  they  are  not  found  on  sinking  sand. 

The  workmen  dig  deep  in  the  ground, 

Until  they  find  a  portion  sound, 

And  then  they  lay  the  largest  stone  down, 

Upon  the  place  they  have  digged  and  found. 

The  workmen  know  that  they  will  stand, 

Tho'  sorely  tried  on  every  hand. 

If  you  should  have  no  trials  here, 
You  ought  to  feel  the  greatest  fear, 

[65] 


That  you  are  not  worth  the  pains  and  care 
Bestowed  on  those  that's  prized  most  dear. 
The  stones  the  builders  wish  to  show, 
Are  polished  and  hewed,  yes,  this  we  know, 
And  they  are  placed  up  in  the  sky, 
That  they  may  be  seen  by  the  passers-by. 

The  foundation  of  a  building  does  not  always  show. 

But  it  is  there,  or  the  buildings  would  go. 

We  do  not  always  see  the  best — 

We  see  the  outside  and  guess  at  the  rest. 

It  is  only  in  the  furnace  the  pure  is  found ; 

It  is  only  in  trials  one  is  proved  not  sound. 

The  world  misjudges,  for  it  does  not  know 

The  heart  and  purpose — it  looks  at  the  show. 

In  testing  a  stone  the  builders  make  sure 
It  is  firm  and  strong  and  will  endure; 
And  if  it  is  tested  and  found  impure, 
It  is  thrown  in  as  filling;  it  cannot  endure. 
The  stones  that  are  for  beauty  or  strength, 
Are  hewn  by  the  artist  as  his  mind  may  think. 
The  place  they  can  fill  and  where  they  should  go. 
The  artist  himself  is  the  one  that  should  know. 

Many  stones  in  the  world  may  be  found 
Which  are  round  and  cornered,  yet  sound. 
The  artist  has  tried  of  them  to  make 
A  stone  of  worth  to  fill  up  a  loop  ; 

[G6] 


But  the  temper  is  such  that  when  he  tries 
To  hew  them  in  shape  their  anger  flies. 
They  will  not  endure  the  chisel's  test, 
So  they  will  not  receive  the  honor  that  is  best. 

It  is  nice  to  be  high  like  a  signal  staff, 
As  forth  to  the  world  its  glory  wafts. 
The  honor  we  place  on  the  topmost  stone, 
And  forget  the  one  in  the  ground  not  shown. 
The  topmost  stone  may  fall  to  the  ground, 
But  if  the  foundation  remaineth  sound 
It  can  be  replaced  by  another  as  well — 
This  is  what  we  see  and  have  heard  tell. 

But  who  can  replace  the  foundation  once  gone? 
Who  has  come  forth  in  history  and  shown 
That  they  can  build  a  tower  that  is  high 
Without  a  foundation  on  the  ground  to  lie  ? 
So  we  view  many  buildings  that  lie  on  the  ground,. 
The  beautiful  stones  all  scattered  around, 
While  still  in  its  place  the  foundation  we  see,. 
As  strong  and  firm  as  it  can  well  be. 

May  each  one  strive  a  stone  to  be, 
Worthy  of  honor  as  the  artist  see; 
May  each  one  fill  his  place  that  is  given, 
As  if  he  were  building  a  tower  to  heaven. 
May  no  complaint  or  anger  be  shown, 
Tho'  the  artist  hew  you  to  make  a  stone 
Worthy  the  place  on  thee  to  stand, 
To  show  the  skill  of  an  artist's  hand. 

[67] 


UNFOUND. 

If  I  possessed  a  pen  the  world  has  never  found 
To  express  the  soul  that  is  ever  above  ground 
I  would  picture  to  the  world's  view 
Something  grand  and  noble,  something  new. 

If  I  could  on  earth  awake  the  spirit  the  world  say 
Was  never  buried,  but  where  is  it  to-day? 
If  I  could  bring  it  forth  and  show  it  where 
It  once  roamed  the  earth  so  fair  ? 

But  when  we  look  over  the  earth  and  see 
We  wonder  what  in  the  future  it  will  be. 
Old  Father  Time  seems  too  slow 
For  men  to-day  who  make  him  tramp  so. 

Oh,  if  I  could  in  some  heart  awake 
The  soul  of  a  poet  that  he  might  take 
His  pen  and  by  his  stroke  give 
Something  to  the  world  that  it  might  live. 


[68] 


RETURNED  TOO  LATE. 

An  old  lady  sat  by  the  window, 

The  lamp  was  burning  low, 
She  was  watching  for  the  return 

Of  her  son  who  left  long  ago. 
He  must  have  struck  it  rich, 

That's  why  he  had  forgot  to  return, 
For  if  he  now  was  a  wanderer, 

He  would  not  the  old  home  spurn. 

The  father  had  watched  and  waited, 

As  anxious  as  the  mother  is  now, 
But  care  rested  heavy  upon  him, 

And  time  had  furrowed  his  brow. 
But  when  he  was  dying  he  called 

And  asked  if  the  boy  had  returned, 
The  one  who  had  wandered  away, 

And  the  old  home  love  had  spurned. 

There  was  a  rich  man  who  entered 

His  office  one  bright  sunny  morn, 
He  was  neat  and  tidy  in  appearance, 

He  was  stalwart  and  noble  in  form. 
He  took  up  the  morning  paper, 

Anxious  the  news  to  obtain, 
For  he  was  always  ready  to  enter 

A  project  in  which  there  was  gain. 

A  few  lines  in  the  morning  paper 
Carried  him  back  to  his  youth, 

[69] 


Was  he  asleep  and  dreaming? 

Or  was  it  really  the  truth? 
He  read  the  paper  over, 

And  tried  it  to  understand, 
His  eyes  seemed  clouded  with  a  mist, 

And  unsteady  was  his  strong  hand. 

The  paragraph  told  of  a  home, 

Out  in  the  country  so  wide, 
Where  three  were  happy  and  contented 

As  they  sat  by  the  old  fireside 
Until  a  stranger  there  came, 

And  aroused  in  the  heart  of  the  lad, 
A  desire  to  go  to  the  city, 

A  desire  that  made  the  home  sad. 

The  boy  listened  to  the  stories 

Told  by  the  stranger  from  afar, 
How  many  had  made  their  fortunes 

And  reveled  in  riches  there 
Until  he  was  discontented  at  home 

And  decided  that  he  would  leave, 
He  seemed  to  forget  how  lonely 

His  parents  there  would  grieve. 

The  boy  loved  them  at  home  as  many 
Boys  who  think  they  are  true, 

But  when  they  go  out  in  the  world 
It  is  forgotten  when  out  of  their  view. 

[70] 


This  boy  wrote  for  awhile 
To  those  at  home  once  so  dear, 

But  business  claimed  his  attention 
And  his  life  was  now  full  of  care. 

And  others  had  filled  the  place 

In  his  heart,  were  they  as  good 
As  those  whom  he  had  left? 

Those  who  had  by  him  stood? 
In  all  his  boyish  troubles, 

He  knew  in  whom  to  confide, 
His  father  had  been  true  and  noble, 

And  kept  him  close  by  his  side. 

He  read  the  paragraph  through, 

It  was  written  by  a  stranger's  hand, 
It  described  how  forgetful  one  was 

When  away  from  the  home  band. 
He  told  how  lonely  it  was 

For  those  who  at  home  did  stay, 
For  those  who  were  aged  and  feeble, 

For  those  who  were  withered  and  gray. 

Those  lines  must  have  been  written, 

By  some  one  who  his  life  knew, 
For  it  touched  the  keynote, 

And  his  past  life  opened  to  view. 
He  remembered  the  sad  parting, 

He  now  remembered  his  promise,  too, 
How  he  had  intended  to  return, 

It  all  now  came  back  to  his  view. 

[71] 


He  decided  to  go  back  once  more, 

And  the  old  folks  there  to  see, 
It  was  a  good  way  from  the  city, 

But  the  train  ran  near,  you  see. 
So  next  morning  he  kissed  his  dear  ones 

Goodbye  his  trip  for  to  make, 
He  mused  on  the  way  how  many 

Precious  hours  of  his  time  it  would  take. 

His  mind  being  quite  busy  recalling 

The  scenes  of  his  boyhood  days, 
'Ere  he  was  aware  time  had  passed, 

The  train  stopped  and  he  there  gazed. 
For  the  village  had  grown 

Almost  to  a  city,  thought  he, 
As  he  stared  around  for  some  object 

O,  where  was  the  old  maple  tree? 

The  grove  so  grand  was  all  gone, 

And  there  in  its  place,  yes,  stood, 
Buildings  of  modern  fashion, 

O,  was  this  really  good. 
Should  he  find  all  changed  at  the  old  home  ? 

Or  would  it  be  there  the  same 
As  when  he  left  it  long  ago? 

O,  what  could  he  of  it  claim  ? 

He  engaged  a  carriage  at  once, 
And  a  driver  he  required,  yes,  too, 

It  was  not  far  to  his  old  home, 
A  short  drive  brought  it  to  view. 

[72] 


It  was  not  as  of  yore, 

With  fields  of  richest  green, 
O,  no,  the  briers  and  thorns 

Had  changed  altogether  the  scene. 

He  looked  long  for  an  object 

That  he  could  remember  well, 
O,  yes,  there  was  the  grand  oak, 

Standing  there  by  the  well. 
But  everything  looked  so  lonely 

As  he  from  the  carriage  did  light, 
He  looked  around  for  some  life, 

But  there  was  none  brought  to  his  sight. 

He  turned  to  the  driver  and  asked 

If  that  old  place  had  been  sold. 
O,  yes,  said  the  driver,  last  week; 

The  story  is  sad  that  is  told. 
I  do  not  wish  to  repeat  it, 

For  it  seems  that  it  cannot  be  true, 
That  a  child  could  leave  a  home, 

And  never  come  back  it  to  view. 

But  now  as  you  are  concerned, 

I  will  tell  you  just  what  I  have  heard ; 
How  the  son  went  away  to  the  city, 

And  never  wrote  back  a  kind  word. 
The  father  and  mother  left  there, 

Worked  and  watched  for  their  boy 
To  return  to  them  who  was  ever 

Their  life,  their  hope  and  their  joy. 

[73] 


But  there  was  a  neighbor  boy 

Who  lived  near  the  old  pair, 
And  he  used  to  stay  and  help  them 

When  they  were  bowed  down  with  care. 
He  gave  them  hope  and  pleasure, 

He  would  talk  about  the  return, 
Of  the  boy  who  had  gone  away 

To  the  grand  city  to  learn. 

But  the  time  was  long  to  wait, 

But  even  time  comes  to  and  end, 
The  old  man  had  toiled  and  saved 

To  have  money  for  his  son  to  spend. 
But  the  old  man  died  a  month  later, 

And  the  old  lady  a  week,  yes,  to-day, 
The  son  didn't  return,  so  the  boy 

Has  the  will  made  in  his  favor,  they  say. 

He  has  closed  up  the  house  for  awhile, 

But  rumor  has  it  afloat 
That  the  boy  will  soon  be  married, 

That  is  what  an  old  friend  has  wrote. 
And  everyone  will  wish  him  joy, 

For  he  was  so  kind  and  good, 
To  those  old  people  so  feeble, 

He  did  everything  that  he  could. 

I  know  if  the  son  could  return 

Back  from  the  world  above, 
He  would  not  try  to  take 

The  home  for  the  sake  of  that  love. 

[74] 


The  boy  had  for  the  aged 
Father  and  mother  of  the  son, 

Who  had  left  them  for  the  sake 
Of  the  yarns  a  stranger  had  spun. 

There  was  a  mist  that  gathered 

In  the  eyes  of  the  man  who  stood 
And  listened  to  the  driver  before  him, 

As  a  gentleman  always  should. 
And  when  he  had  finished  his  story, 

The  man  asked  him  to  wait 
Until  he  had  viewed  around 

This  piece  of  real  estate. 

He  entered  the  gate  as  if  dreaming, 

He  tried  to  think,  but  the  past 
Came   crowding   into   his   mind; 

He  tried  it  aside  to  cast, 
But  his  heart  seemed  to  stand  still, 

As  regret  round  it  did  crowd; 
He  groaned  now  in  anguish, 

And  murmured  a  prayer  aloud. 

He  went  back  to  the  carriage, 

And  seemed  so  quiet  and  sad 
That  the  driver  asked  him  his  business, 

He  said  the  estate  was  bad. 
He  went  back  to  the  city, 

And  left  the  dead  there  to  rest, 
While  he  decided  to  live  better 

That  he  might  be  more  blest. 

[751 


So  ofttimes  our  purpose  is  thwarted, 

Yes,  by  the  hand  of  fate, 
And  we  arrive  at  conclusions 

When  it  has  proven  too  late. 
So  if  you  have  a  purpose, 

That  is  grand  or  noble  to-day, 
Show  it  forth  to  the  world  just  now, 

Do  not  lay  it  in  secret  away. 


FIGHTING  THE  WOLF. 

There  was  a  girl  once  driven  from  home, 

Not  by  a  father's  hand, 
With  cruel  oaths  and  heavy  blows, 

But  by  the  wolf's  strong  band. 
She  had  long  tried  the  wolf  to  fight, 

As  he  stood  at  the  door, 
And  now  she  did  what  other  have 

Done  many  times  before. 

She  left  her  home,  not  to  escape 

Starvation  who  stood  at  the  door, 
For  had  they  not  the  enemy  faced, 

Yes,  many  times  before. 
Some  times  there  came  a  tidal  wave 

That  brought  to  them  a  store, 
Of  things  that  helped  them  to  fight 

The  hungry  wolf  from  the  door. 

[76] 


How  many  tides  had  risen  and  fell, 

And  left  no  help  on  shore, 
Why  should  they  all  so  perish  now? 

Why  should  they  thus  give  o'er? 
They  could  have  fought  the  wolf  away, 

And  driven  him  from  the  shore, 
If  others  had  not  held  the  key, 

That  opened  to  him  the  door. 

So  it  was  now  decided  by  all 

A  message  forth  to  send, 
That  they  might  thus  some  help  secure, 

And  find  perhaps  a  friend. 
She  labored  long  some  bread  to  gain, 

For  those  who  stayed  at  home, 
They  knew  one  word  from  them  would  bring 

The  wanderer  back  'twas  come. 

They  fought  the  enemy  on  every  side, 

They  stood  firm  there  together, 
There  was  no  power  could  them  divide, 

No  wolf  could  those  two  sever. 
The  enemy  fought  around  the  home, 

To  drive  them,  yes,  from  cover, 
They  did  not  know  how  firm  they  felt, 

As  the  angels  did  them  hover. 

The  days  dragged  on  so  slow, 

As  no  one  came  to  cheer, 
And  every  day  was  spent  in  dread 

And  every  night  in  fear. 

[77] 


For  they  knew  not  how  soon 

The  supply  would  give  out, 
And  they  would  have  no  friend  near 

To  drive  the  wolves  ascout. 

They  did  much  with  their  prayers, 

The  one  away  to  cheer, 
For  she  was  living  in  dread 

Of  some  bad  news  to  hear. 
For  time  had  taught  them  all 

That  the  enemy  was  prowling  around, 
For  ofttimes  they  heard  his  cry 

That  made  a  horrid  sound. 

The  continued  anxious  strain 

Upon  their  strength  did   feed, 
And  they  wished  the  wanderer  to  return, 

They  felt  sorely  in  need. 
Of  some  one  to  help  them  fight, 

So  they  asked  her  to  come  back, 
And  fill  the  place  she  left, 

Just  stand  in  the  same  track. 

She  came  back  for  a  while, 

Until  some  strength  was  gained, 
Then  she  went  out  again  to  work, 

For  no  bread  at  home  remained. 
And  thus  she  tried  it  o'er  and  o'er, 

And  was  driven  back  again, 
And  it  seemed  that  all  hope  now 

Was  together  for  them  to  remain. 

[78] 


The  wolf  seemea  more  afraid, 

When  they  stood  all  together 
Than  went  just  two  were  at  home, 

So  why  should  fate  them  sever. 
They  are  looking  out  for  help, 

And  surely  it  will  come; 
The  angels  have  to  bring  it 

From  Heaven's  dear  promised  home. 


LOAFING. 

Oh,  where  is  the  soldier  boy  to-day? 

Does  he  on  the  corner  stand, 
Idly  waiting  for  to  see 

Where  he  can  gain  command 
Of  the  idle  crowd  who  surge 

With  their  cigarettes  in  hand, 
Who  are  anxious  for  some  one 

Who  is  able  to  command? 

This  crowd  who  loafs  around 

And  on  the  corner  stand 
Will  never  muster  out 

A  boy  with  a  clean  hand, 
Who  will  be  able  respect  to  gain, 

Or  our  armies  to  command. 
Oh,  no ;  the  world  will  pass  them  by ; 

It  will  leave  them  where  they  stand. 

[79] 


Now  if  you  wish  to  make  a  man, 
Don't  take  a  cigarette, 
Neither  a  tobacco  quid, 

Which  are  on  the  ground  spat. 
If  this  is  what  we  have  to-day 

To  make  men  out  of  we  will  try 
To  breathe  awhile  longer 

And  then  lay  down  and  die. 


TO  ATTEMPT  GREAT  THINGS. 

Attempt  great  things;  why  should  you  die 
Without  gaining  a  purpose,  of  something  high? 
You  need  not  expect  to  reach  the  sky, 
Unless  you  attempt  it,  or  somewhat  try. 

When  you  start  on  life's  journey,  look  around 
And  select  your  vocation — be  sure  it  is  sound. 
In  climbing  up  the  mountain  of  fame, 
You  cannot  stop  and  there  remain. 

You  must  climb  up,  and  up  each  day; 
Climbing  is  not  a  work  of  play. 
And  there  is  no  resting  place  yet  found 
Until  you  reach  the  topmost  round. 

[80] 


And  when  in  your  strength  you  gain 
The  highest  round  on  the  ladder  of  fame, 
Hold  on  fast  lest  you  should  fall; 
And  there  would  be  no  honor  at  all. 

So  many  in  starting  out  you  find 
Have  wandered  round  and  lost  their  mind ; 
They  did  not  try  to  climb  very  high — 
They  only  climbed  a  hill  nearby. 

They  soon  reached  the  top  and  heaved  a  sigh; 
They  pass  over,  and  think  they  will  fly; 
But  soon  they  are  swept  away  by  the  tide — 
By  the  tempter's  power  on  the  other  side. 

No  matter  how  small  a  hill  may  be, 
It  slopes  down  on  the  other  side  to  the  sea. 
A  small  purpose  in  life  you  may  gain, 
But  you  cannot  stop  there  and  long  remain. 

For  every  foot  of  ground  on  the  way 
Is  not  sound  for  you  to  stop  and  stay. 
Press  right  on,  for  the  higher  you  go, 
The  footing  is  stronger — this  I  know. 

If  you  start  out  to  climb  very  high, 
Select  the  mount  that  reaches  to  the  sky. 
It  is  better  on  this  mount  to  be 
Than  on  the  other  side,  of  the  hill  you  see. 

[81] 


As  long  as  you  are  climbing  there  is  not  a  fear, 
But  when  you  start  down  the  tempter  Is  near. 
Now,  if  you  are  climbing  the  mount  of  fame, 
Do  not  stop  and  expect  to  remain. 

So  keep  on  the  side  you  must  still  climb; 
Keep  on  learning  all  your  life-time. 
If  you  think  you  have  gained  a  point  on  the  way, 
Do  not  brag — just  wait  till  another  day. 

Now  when  you  look  you  can  see  very  high, 
And  the  mountain  to  climb  the  top's  in  the  sky. 
For  if  you  be  on  this  mount  going  up 
When  you  die  you  don't  have  to  stop. 

There  are  many  ways  by  which  one  may  climb 

Up  the  hills  that  are  near — you  can  have  your  own  tim< 

For  many  have  gained  the  top  too  soon; 

They  got  there  before  it  was  quite  noon. 

You  see  when  a  purpose  in  life  has  been  won 
One  grows  weary  when  his  work  is  done. 
Satan  his  workers  do  often  find 
Among  the  idlers,  he  employs  their  mind. 

One  who  is  on  the  top  can  find  still 
Many  things  to  attract  him  to  start  down  hill. 
Many  flatterers,  too,  there  are  found — 
You  know  them  by  their  shallow  sound. 

[82] 


If  one  could  die  when  the  top  he  has  won, 
Just  die  there  in  the  glory  of  the  noon  sun; 
Oh,  how  joyous  to  pass  from  the  mount, 
When  the  work  is  done,  oh,  just  pass  out. 

So  many  do  not  a  grand  purpose  try 

For  fear  they  will  quit  it  before  they  die; 

But  there  is  no  telling  what  the  height  one  may  gain 

If  they  in  the  right  way  always  remain. 

There  is  more  honor  on  the  mount  of  fame, 
If  you  are  but  half  up  than  to  remain 
At  the  foot  or  even  on  the  top 
Of  some  false  hope  or  a  place  to  stop. 

The  mount  of  fame  you  may  climb  high 
If  you  start  right  and  continually  try; 
But  you  are  sure  no  height  to  gain 
If  you  idly  at  the  foot  there  remain. 

There  is  but  one  path  on  this  way,  and  it  is  straight, 
And  you  must  toil  both  early  and  late; 
But  if  you  should  in  this  way  be 
When  snatched  from  time  to  eternity. 

You  will  keep  on,  your  work  shall  be  shown — 
It  will  continue  to  flourish  after  you  are  gone. 
The  seed  that  you  sow  here  on  this  earth 
Will  flourish  and  give  a  pleasure  of  worth. 

[83] 


Now  let  me  tell  you  before  you  begin 
To  climb  up  this  mountain,  see  there  is  no  sin, 
Clinging  to  your  hands  or  your  heart, 
Before  you  begin  be  free,  every  part. 

Those  who  have  climbed  to  the  topmost  round 
Are  those  who  have  loved  freedom's  sweet  sound. 
We  should  not  attempt  something  without  worth, 
But  be  true  to  a  purpose  that  truth  hath  given  birth. 

And  when  the  death  sentence  comes  you  may  be 
Only  half  up  the  mountain,  but  free. 
And  the  few  steps  that  lie  between  you  and  heaven 
Can  be  made  at  one  bound  when  angels'  help  given. 


FRIENDSHIP. 

Press  not  a  friendship,  nail  it  not  to  the  wall, 

Lest  in  your  joy  you  get  a  fall. 

If  you  have  a  friend  that  is  true  and  kind, 

Do  not  urge  him  sore  lest  he  speak  his  mind. 

Many  cords  are  made  for  a  purpose  here, 

And  the  cord  of  friendship  should  be  most  dear. 

Place  not  upon  it  a  burden  hard  to  bear; 

Do  not  ask  it  to  raise  your  load  of  care. 

Keep  your  friends  on  the  sunny  side, 
Keep  them  there  to-day; 

[84] 


Keep  them  'mid  the  sunbeams 
And  they  will  never  stray. 

There  is  two  sides  to  everything, 

And  you  should  know  on  which  side  to  cling ; 

Friendship  not  often  grows  in  the  cold, 

It  is  always  brave,  but  never  bold. 

There  are  many  friends  that  will  ever  be  true, 

If  they  were  not  asked  something  to  do. 

Never  place  them  where  they  will  have  to  stand 

Alone  for  you  in  a  cold,  cold  land. 

It  is  better  to  think  you  have  a  friend  that  is  true 
Than  to  try  them  and  find  they  are  not  for  you. 
In  your  battles  and  your  strife, 
Call  not  upon  your  friends  of  life, 
For  in  them  you  may  be  deceived, 
And  your  heart  by  them  be  grieved. 
A  friend  that  is  true  and  has  been  tried, 
Is  worth  far  more  than  all  beside. 

Talk  about  friends,  but  are  you  true? 
Does  the  sun  have  to  always  shine  for  you? 
Or  can  you  be  trusted  to  go  in  the  shade? 
Was  friendship  only  for  sunbeams  made? 
Be  as  good  as  you  wish  others  were, 
Treat  every  one  honest  and  square; 
Let  others  recall  your  memory  and  tell, 
That  you  have  done  all  things  well. 


[85] 


DEATH'S  KINDNESS  NOT  KNOWN. 

There  was  once  a  little  child 

That  on  the  bed  layed 

Sick  and  suffering 

But  not  afraid. 

The  mother  had  asked  the  doctors  all 

About  the  child  so  frail  and  small. 

Oh,  said  the  doctor, 

As  he  shook  his  head, 

The  poor  little   fellow 

Will  soon  be  dead. 

The  mother's  grief  here  knew  no  bounds, 

For  her  little  child  should  not  lay  in  the  ground. 

She  fell  down  by  the  bedside, 
Spread  forth  her  hand,  and  there  she  cried. 
Oh,  death,  she  cried,  oh,  spare  my  son, 
Oh,  let  him  live  till  mine  is  done. 

She  seemed  to  see  death  standing  there; 
Oh,  death,  in  mercy,  please  do  spare. 
Death  seemed  to  hear  her  pleading  cries, 
For  the  child  awoke  and  opened  his  eyes. 

Oh,  mother,  why  did  you  me  awake, 
From  that  dream;  was  it  for  love's  sake? 
Oh,  mother,  if  you  love  me  so, 
You  should  in  pity  have  let  me  go. 

[86] 


Oh,  I  remember  now  so  well, 
How  the  angels  tried  so  hard  to  tell 
About  the  good  things  there  in  store, 
For  the  little  children  they  carry  o'er. 

At  first  I  thought  with  them  I'd  go, 
But,  oh,  dear  mother,  I  loved  you  so. 
I  came  back  here  to  this  earth  below 
To  get  you  ready  with  me  to  go. 

The  days  passed  by  and  the  child  he  grew 
Strong  and  handsome  as  the  world  doth  view. 
The  mother  had  petted  and  spoiled  the  child, 
The  world  called  him  handsome,  but  very  wild. 

The  years  passed  by  and  news  there  came 
Of  a  man  who  lay  dying  shot  through  the  brain. 
There  was  a  shriek  and  the  murderer  was  chased ; 
At  length  he  was  captured  and  brought  to  face. 

The  mother,  in  the  meantime,  had  never  found 

No  one  so  kind  and  joyous  around. 

Many  rumors  she  heard, 

But  she  did  not  believe  a  single  word. 

We  will  close  the  sad  book  and  not  now  tell 

How  the  mother's  heart  ached  and  did  swell, 

Until  she  thought  of  death  kindly  and  wished  he  had  took 

Her  baby  away  whom  he  had  himself  booked. 

[87] 


Oh,  hear  not  the  sad,  sad  call, 
Of  the  mother  who  mourned  at  the  fall 
Of  all  her  hopes,  her  son  was  dead; 
Why  did  not  death  take  the  baby  instead? 

Death  can  see  farther  than  mothers  can, 
And  why  should  they  now  fight  his  great  plan? 
Death  is  more  kind  than  fate ;  yes,  he 
Saves  many  from  falling,  he  sets  them  free. 


SHADOWS. 

Shadows  are  falling,  but  let  them  there  be, 
Cast  on  the  earth,  but  keep  the  heart  free. 
The  place  for  the  shadows  are  under  the  tree, 
Where  the  sun  cannot  reach,  and  not  even  see 
The  shadows  that  fall  on  the  path  if  they  be, 
Cast  by  another,  through  it  you  can  see. 
If  you  have  the  light  in  your  heart  it  will  show 
How  you  should  walk,  and  where  you  should  go. 

If  there  was  no  sunlight,  there  would  be  no  shade 

Unless  it  was  night  and  the  moon  it  had  made. 

There  is  not  a  shadow  that  can  get  between 

The  light  in  the  heart  unless  sin  be  the  screen. 

Keep  your  heart  free  that  a  light  you  may  show 

On  the  path  of  another  who  has  felt  the  warm  glow. 

The  shadow  that's  cast  on  a  path  by  a  tree, 

It  gives  forth  refreshment  that  one  here  can  see. 

[88] 


The  days  are  not  always  from  shadows  free, 
Neither,  indeed,  should  they  all  be. 
But  ofttimes  there  falls  a  shadow  and  rain 
That  the  roots  by  it  may  some  strength  gain. 
The  shadows  and  rain  the  tree  do  not  kill, 
'Tis  only  disease  in  the  heart  can  this  fill. 
So  it  is  in  this  life  with  you  and  with  me, 
It  cannot  affect  the  life  if  the  heart  be  free. 


YESTERDAY,  TO-DAY  AND  TO-MORROW. 

Yesterday  is  passed,  to-day  is  here, 
And  to-morrow  may  be  filled  with  doubt  and  fear. 
We  did  little  yesterday,  and  still  less  to-day, 
But  to-morrow  we  expect  our  strength  to  outlay. 

Yesterday  was  something  we  had  in  our  grasp, 
To-day  we  are  trying  something  to  clasp. 
To-morrow  is  something-  we  hope  to  gain, 
Tho'  our  hopes  may  be  like  the  past  all  slain. 

If  yesterday  was  spent  in  labor  and  care, 
To-day  we  may  work  without  doubt  or  fear. 
To-morrow  we  expect  something  to  gain, 
That  will  pay  us  for  all  labor  and  pain. 

We  need  not  fear,  for  yesterday  is  past, 
It  is  for  the  future  that  hope  has  been  cast. 
We  sowed  the  seed  yesterday,  we  tend  it  to-day, 
To-morrow  we  reap,  then  store  it  away. 

[89] 


FRIENDS. 

You  say  that  friends  are  always  true, 

But  ofttimes  I  have  tried, 
For  to  discover  the  place 

Where  it's   securely  tied. 
Now  every  time  yet, 

It  was  just  on  one  side ; 
And  as  long  as  you  pull  straight 

The  knot  will  stay  tied. 

Friendship  is  a  bow-knot 

And  love  is  another, 
When  speaking  about  one, 

A  sister  or  brother, 
As  long  as  the  bow-knot 

Is  kept  in  his  place, 
It  will  hold  right  through 

All  the  rough  chase. 

The  enemies  may  strike, 

And  the  bullets  may  send, 
But  the  bow  holds  fast, 

And  will  to  the  end; 
The  folks  standing  round 

Have  often  tried 
This  cord  to  undo, 

And  those  to  divide. 

[20] 


It  is  only  a  friend 

That  can  all  foes  outride, 
So  he  puts  on  his  garb 

And  strolls  up  beside, 
For  he  knows  very  well 

Which  side  to  take. 
He  knows  all  about  it, 

He  knows  of  the  make. 

For  many  such  bows 

He  has  made  for  the  sake 
Of    just   trying   his    skill 

Some  interest  to  awake. 
He  comes  forth  with  tears, 

And  speaks  of  his  grief; 
He  enters  the  heart 

And  seeketh  some  relief. 

O  what  harm  can  I  do 

Tn  one  that's  so  kind? 
So  in  his  false  garb 

A  way  he  doth  find 
To  unfasten  the  bow-knot 

That  seemed  so  secure, 
He  poisoned  the  mind 

Of  those  once  so  pure. 

There  never  was  a  bow-knot 
In  this  false  world  below, 

But  if  the  right  cord  was  pulled 
Away  it  would  go. 

[91] 


So  you  need  not  feel  sure 
Of  a  friendship  most  dear, 

As  long  as  there  is  sin 
Danger  lurks  near. 

So  watch  your  friends  kindly, 

And  you  may  awake 
Just  in  time  for  to  see 

The  right  road  to  take. 
Treat  them   the  same 

Tho'  stand  all  alone, 
Lean  not  on  him, 

Tho'  trust  he  has  shown. 

There  would  not  be 

So  many  falls  made 
If  one  would  do  right 

And  not  seek  the  shade. 
Stand  on  your  own  feet; 

It  is  better  if  small 
Than  to  trust  to  others 

And  then  get  a  fall. 


LOVE  AND  FRIENDSHIP  NEVER  ENTWINE. 

The  poet  thinks  he  could  love  take, 
And  twine  it  round  with  friendship's  make, 
And  thus  the  two  be  bound  together, 
That  no  hand  could  them  quite  sever. 

[92] 


I  know  that  love  and  friendship  true 
Would  make  a  garment  fair  to  view, 
The  world  would  stop  its  rush  to  take 
A  garland  of  such  brilliant  make. 

Friendship  like  steel  has  oft  been  tried, 
But  can  it  ever  the  fire  abide? 
The  fire  can  by  a  steady  glow 
Sharpen  the  steel  a  dagger  to  show. 

And  love  will  not  forever  last, 
Unless  some  food  is  to  it  cast, 
For  it  can  gain  no  strength  from  steel, 
But  it  will  soon  the  coldness  feel. 

Now  if  you  have  a  friend  most  dear, 
Away  from  the  fire  forever  steer ; 
Do  not  try  it  in  a  furnace  to  prove, 
Tho'  you  may  sometimes,  yes,  try  love. 

And  it  is  best  if  you  have  the  two, 
Is  to  keep  each  one  from  the  other's  view, 
For  if  you  try  them  together  to  blend, 
You  may  them  both  forever  rend. 


[93] 


FALLING  PETALS. 

Sometimes  we  wish  that  spring  would  last 

All  through  the  long  year, 
But  when  we  think  of  the  fruit 

That  would  never  then  appear, 
We  give  up  the  flowers  with  a  sigh, 

For  we  know  that  they  cannot  last, 
They  must  wither  and  perish — 

They  must  to  the  ground  be  cast. 

O!  it  is  not  the  flowers  of  spring, 

'Tis  only  their  beauty  that's  passed, 
The  flowers  cling  there  yet, 

'Tis  only  the  petals  that's  cast. 
So  may  the  good  in  our  life 

Remain,  tho'  our  youth  is  dead; 
May  it  live  forever  in  the  heart 

And  not  like  the  petals  be  shed. 

May  the  life  yield  forth  a  supply 

Of  good  things  for  others  to  enjoy, 
And  not  be  stored  away  in  the  heart, 

And  kept  there  itself  to  destroy. 
We  know  that  the  spring  flowers  are  sweet, 

But  the  fruit  that  the  tree  doth  bear 
It  is  prized  more  highly  by  all, 

Tho'  the  flowers  be  brilliant  and  fair. 

.  [91] 


THE  MOONBEAMS. 

Someone  has  said  they  wish  the  moon, 

Would  rise  at  the  close  of  day, 
That  there  would  be  no  dark  night 

To  lead  so  many  astray. 
Who  knows  at  first  but  what  the  moon 

Rose  as  the  sun  went  down; 
Before  the  world  received  the  curse, 

Or  cast  on  its  frown. 

Perhaps  the  moon  rose  in  the  East, 

To  shed  its  mellow  rays, 
That  all  the  world  might  find  sweet  rest, 

After  the  glorious  day. 
Perhaps  the  moon  looked  down,  yes,  then, 

To  guard  the  sleepers  who  lay 
So  peacefully  there  on  nature's  breast, 

While  the  boughs  o'er  them  did  sway. 

The  earth  must  have  been  ashamed 

Of  the  working  of  its  way; 
That  the  sun  should  see  its  crimes 

All  through  the  bright,  warm  day. 
And  as  it  could  not  reach 

The  glorious  orb  on  high, 
It  cast  its  shadow  on 

The  orb  the  nearest  by. 

And  I  suppose  the  moon  is  glad 
That  it  don't  have  to  see 

[95] 


All  the  crimes  that  man  commit, 

O,  no!  it  was  set  free. 
And  it  is  only  one  night  in  thirty 

That  it  doth  stand  on  guard, 
And  watches  through  the  long  night 

Over  forest,  home  and  sward. 

And  what  the  moon  sees  in  one  night 

Would  cause  the  world  to  blush, 
Their  career  would  be  quite  checked, 

They  would  proclaim  a  hush. 
And  if  the  moon  could  see, 

Without  its  own  light  shining, 
It  would  find  in  many  homes 

A  skeleton  reclining. 

The  moonlight  time  is  sweet, 

With  its  soft  and  mellow  ray, 
But  it  cannot  lessen  crime, 

Like  the  sun's  bright  glorious  ray. 
The  lurking  foe  can  find 

A  shadow  near  the  way, 
Where  the  traveler  passes  in  the  night, 

And  there  in  secret  slay. 

Don't  trust  to  the  moonbeams, 

Wait  for  the  sun  to  shine, 
That  you  may  know  the  path  to  tread, 

And  where  you  should  recline. 

[H] 


Do  not  stop  by  the  wayside, 

In  the  shadow  the  moon  has  made, 

For  sin  and  crime  is  ever 
Lurking  in  the  shade. 

The  moon  shines  forth  with  good  intent, 

We  do  not  doubt  it  here, 
But  the  shadows  it  doth  make 

Are  not  so  pure  and  clear. 
But  what  we  feel  a  dread, 

That  some  lurking  foe  doth  stand, 
With  dagger  drawn  to  strike  us  through, 

And  grip  us  in  his  hand. 

The  good  men  here  on  earth, 

Have  done  much  to  light 
The  dark  places  on  life's  road, 

They  show  us  what  is  right. 
The  sun  shines  through  the  day, 

The  moon  cheers  up  the  night; 
But,  O !  where  is  the  ray 

That  shows  us  what  is  right? 

The  sun  knows  his  course  to  run, 

And  the  moon  knows  when  to  change, 
But  man  is  very  ignorant, 

O!  yes,  is  it  not  strange? 
The  moon  doth  run  its  course, 

And  lets  the  dewdrops  fall, 
He  is  not  like  the  sun, 

Who  dries  the  dewdrops  all. 

[97] 


He  takes  not  from  the  earth, 

Tho'  he  gives  his  light  to  all, 
He  does  not  hide  his  light  away, 

O,  no !  he  lets  it  fall. 
And  all  the  objects  which  it  strikes 

Shed  forth  a  mellow  glow, 
And  why  is  it  the  world  don't  thank, 

Or  to  it  kindness  show? 

The  world  complains  of  the  dark  night, 

When  the  moon  is  hid  from  view, 
And  they  have  invented  many  lights, 

That  lighten  up,  it's  true. 
But  you  must  pay  for  the  light  you  get, 

A  shadow  has  been  cast 
About  the  poor  who  have  no  gold, 

Their  houses  have  all  been  passed. 


WORK  UNFINISHED. 

You  say  that  he  died,  his  work  incomplete, 

Oh!  who  in  this  life  has  accomplished  this  feat? 

All  the  great  men  who  died  without  fear, 

Left  their  work  unfinished  that  another  might  share; 

Not  that  another  can  his  place  here  fill, 

But  the  trial  is  worthy  all  patience  and  skill. 

[98] 


Those  who  are  idle  are  the  ones  who  get  through, 

But  the  workers  have  always  something  to  do. 

All  history  of  the  past  has  never  yet  shown 

That  a  great  man  has  finished,  that  his  work  is  all  done. 

He  may  climb  upward,  and  in  fame  be  high, 

But  his  work  is  unfinished,  tho'  he's  in  the  sky. 

The  seed  he  has  sown  will  sprout  and  here  grow, 
And  those  he  has  planted  the  fruit  will  soon  show. 
The  seed  that  was  scattered  by  the  good  in  their  haste 
May  be  cultured  and  nourished  by  those  who  are  chaste- 
We  cannot  here  be  the  beginning  of  all  good, 
For  others  have  labored  and  for  righteousness  stood. 

The  thing  for  us  here  is  to  labor  to  attain, 

A  height  that  others  will  strive  here  to  gain ; 

Let  our  footsteps  be  traced  by  what  we  have  won, 

May  the  light  from  Heaven  show  our  work  is  well  done. 

May  others  not  fear  to  take  up  the  thread 

That  fell  from  our  hand,  tho'  we  should  be  dead. 


SELF  IN  THE  WAY  OF  GOOD. 

Self  is  a  monster  who  lives  on  the  best 
There  is  in  the  heart  and  destroys  all  the  rest; 
He  is  the  enemy  of  all  mankind, 
He  destroys  the  best  in  man  that  we  find. 

[99] 


O !  watch  for  him  ever  and  shoot  him  through, 
For  he  is  an  enemy  of  all,  yes,  and  of  you ; 
You  may  try  to  do  good  in  one  way  or  another, 
But  self  he  is  there,  he  is  closer  than  a  brother. 

Many  have  started  some  good  on  the  earth, 
But  self  slew  the  purpose,  yes,  in  its  birth ; 
Many  grand  armies  have  been  in  the  field, 
But  self  stepped  out  and  made  them  all  yield. 
Love  has  opened  many  a  heart  door, 
But  self  was  there  to  destroy  the  store. 
There  can  no  good  flourish  nor  grow  in  the  heart 
Where  self  has  control — he  destroys  every  part. 

Some  we  knew  in  our  youth  who  was  kind, 

They  seemed  to  possess  heart,  soul  and  mind; 

But  as  time  passed  on  we  saw  a  change, 

The  pure  soul  and  heart  was  gone  it  is  strange. 

We  looked  in  the  place  and  O,  there  stood, 

A  monster,  yes,  self,  to  destroy  all  good. 

O!  who  is  able  this  monster  to  kill, 

Come  forward  at  once  and  show  now  your  skill. 

Many  have  tried  this  monster  to  slay, 

If  he  was  in  others,  but  in  their  own  heart  let  stay; 

It  is  not  so  hard  a  cause  to  defend, 

When  the  walls  are  secure  the  monster  can't  rend; 

But  if  your  enemy  be  inside, 

You  cannot  in  the  walls  then  confide. 

You  will  have  to  resort  to  some  higher  power, 

O,  yes!  to  the  watchman  who  stands  on  the  tower. 

[100] 


This  watchman  who  stands  up  on  high, 

Alone  can  destroy  self  that  in  the  heart  lie. 

You  may  think  you  have  self  under  control, 

You  see  him  in  others,  but  how  is  your  soul? 

If  you  had  the  looking-glass  that  points  out  the  way, 

And  on  your  heart  let  fall  the  bright  ray, 

You  would  see  yourself  as  others  do, 

This  looking-glass  changes  entirely  the  view. 

If  one  saw  themselves  as  others  do, 
The  monster  so  hideous  and  repulsive  to  view, 
They  would  not  hearken  to  him  each  day, 
But  they  would  fiercely  drive  him  away. 
No  good  cause  in  the  world  can  grow 
While  self  is  standing  fronting  the  row ; 
Destroy  self  and  the  victory  you  will  win, 
For  he  is  the  companion  of  all  crime  and  sin. 


TWENTY-ONE  YEARS. 

Twenty-one  years,  you  say  you  are  free 
To  do  good  or  bad,  which  now  will  it  be? 
You  have  been  restrained  by  a  father's  hand, 
Between  you  and  danger  he  always  did  stand. 
You  seem  to  think  now  you  can  do  you  own  will, 
Which  cup  will  it  be  to  the  brim  you  will  fill? 

[101] 


You  say  you  are  free,  who  did  the  right  sign  ? 
Your  father  and  mother  who  did  you  entwine? 
With  their  love  they  watched  o'er  you  to  see 
That  you  walked  in  the  right,  well  you  are  not  free, 
For  where  is  the  father  and  mother  to-day, 
Who  gives  up  a  son  tho'  in  chains  he  now  lay? 

Yes,  one  may  be  twenty-one  and  more, 

But  no  freedom  can  be  felt  on  this  drifting  shore, 

For  the  whole  human  family  is  bound  together 

By  a  cord  of  dependence  that  time  cannot  sever. 

Age  cannot  this  cord  now  rend, 

But  it  binds  it  around  close  to  the  end. 


PROMISES  FORGOTTEN. 

Promises,  yes,  by  the  world  is  given, 

To  destroy  the  heart  and  the  hope  of  heaven, 

Many,  O!  yes,  of  them  I  have  heard, 

But  they  were  spoken  only  in  word, 

For  they  were  forgotten  or  just  cast 

Aside  as  a  thing  that  forever  is  passed; 

But  they  were  kept  in  the  heart  by  the  one  who  heard 

And  cherished  and  loved,  yes,  every  word. 

Time  flew  by  and  the  promises  still  slept, 

The  heart  grew  weary,  and  the  eyes  they  wept; 

[  102  ] 


They  become  to  the  one  who  spake 
Only  a  pastime,  a  dream  not  awake, 
For  they  had  been  forgotten  long  ago; 
They  had  left  no  trace,  not  a  mark  to  show, 
For  the  one  who  had  spoken  was  gay  and  glad, 
While  the  one  who  listened  was  weeping  and  sad. 

If  you  have  anything  on  earth  to  give, 
Give  it,  O !  yes,  but  not  a  promise  let  it  live, 
For  when  it  parts  from  the  lips  it  doth  die, 
Have  you  not  seen  it  withering  lie? 
When  it  is  past,  it  then  becomes  a  joke 
By  most  of  those  who  a  promise  has  spoke. 
Listen  to  the  promise  that  is  given, 
But  do  not  cherish  it,  but  send  it  up  to  Heaven. 

The  promises  that  are  given  by  brothers  and  friends 
Are  as  raindrops  the  bright  clouds  do  send; 
When  the  sun  in  shining  they  fall  on  the  grass, 
And  wither  it  all  when  it  doth  pass. 
If  hope  is  in  the  heart  promise  no  more, 
For  why  should  you  destroy  the  store? 
If  the  rain  doth  fall,  let  it  come  in  the  dark, 
And  not  when  hope  shines  as  a  bright  spark. 


103] 


LOVE  IS  DEAD. 

Love  is  dead  and  buried  you  say, 

O!  show  to  me  his  grave 
That  I  may  pluck  some  flowers 

And  carry  them  home  to  save. 
For  love  has  never  killed, 

Tho'  he  pierces  the  heart  through, 
He  only  opens  a  channel 

That  the  world  may  the  inside  view. 

If  one  is  cold  and  crabbed, 

Love  can  make  him  over  again ; 
He  can  change  his  tastes  and  habits, 

If  he  in  his  heart  remain. 
The  sweetest  part  of  one's  life 

Is  changed  into  wormwood  and  gall, 
If  love  lifts  them  up  from  the  earth 

And  then  to  the  ground  they  fall. 

Love  shows  the  best  there  is 

In  the  heart  of  the  world  around, 
The  best  is  shown  in  a  life, 

When  true  love  has  been  found. 
And  if  one  grasp  only  the  shadow 

And  does  not  love  attain 
It  weakens  the  power  for  good, 

It  destroys  the  once  strong  brain. 

Never  strive  for  love  unless 

You  are  sure  that  you  will  win, 

[104] 


For  many  have  taken  a  substitute 
And  it  was  proven  a  sin. 

Love  is  like  unto  gold, 

In  whatever  state  it  is  found, 

It  is  pure  and  untarnished, 
Tho'  it  be  on  the  ground. 


LOVE  AND  AGE. 

Love  and  age  cannot  keep  step, 
For  oft  I've  seen  it  tried, 

And  if  you  wish  for  happiness, 
Keep  reason  by  your  side. 

Age  tries  to  win  love  by  a  scheme 

Of  his  appearing  young, 
But  soon,  alas !  he  finds  out  that 

The  wrong  thread  has  been  spun. 

Love  often  finds  that  he's  been  won 
By  one  that's  aged  and  gray, 

And  when  he  discovers  this, 
He  then  just  flies  away. 

Reason  with  age  is  more  in  step, 
They  much  more  even  go 

Than  love  who  likes  to  run  a  race, 
And  age  is  found  too  slow. 

[105] 


We  do  not  say  that  love  will  leave 
One  who  grows  old  in  the  way, 

O!  no,  he  often  likes  to  walk  with  him, 
He  will  with  him,  yes,  stay. 

Love  does  not  often  tread  the  path 
He  once  was  forced  to  leave 

One  does  not  often  get  the  chance, 
The  same  love  for  to  grieve. 

When  love  joins  with  youth, 

To  walk  the  shining  road, 
They  are  ofttimes  found  at  the  close, 

Eating  the  same  pure  food. 

If  love  joins  with  youth, 

And  they  walk  life's  road  together, 
It  is  hard  to  part  them, 

An  idle  word  can't  sever. 


MEMORY. 

It  is  memory  that  brings  up  the  past, 

By  it  a  light  or  a  shadow  is  cast. 

Why  can  we  not  bring  forth  the  bright  ray, 

And  fold  up  the  shadows  and  lay  them  away? 

For  we  care  not  to  recall  the  things  that  are  gone, 

If  they  only  a  shadow  on  our  pathway  have  throwa 

O !  what  would  the  joys  of  to-day  now  be, 

If  no  shadows  in  the  background  we  could  see; 

[106] 


It  is  memory  that  stands  in  the  race  to-day, 
And  waives  forth  the  past  our  joys  to  slay; 
We  now  recall  the  past  that  is  dead, 
We  weep,  O!  yes,  for  the  joys  that  are  fled. 

Sweet  memory  of  joys  that  are  now  past, 

Are  like  the  bright  rays  from  the  sunbeams  cast; 

Over  the  path  we  trod  in  our  youth, 

To  give  us  courage  to  work,  yes,  in  truth; 

To  hide  the  dark  hours  of  the  past, 

With  the  memory  of  joys  that  will  ever  last. 

Down  to  old  age  memory  doth  show, 
A  joy  that  youth  is  unable  to  know; 
Youth  may  have  passed  hurriedly  by, 
Old  age  now  reflects  on  the  past  with  a  sigh ; 
In  youth  many  things  pass  as  a  dream, 
While  in  old  age  it  really  doth  seem. 

Love  may  come  but  refuse  to  stay, 

But  memory  recalls  the  bright  day ; 

If  time  has  made  on  the  brow, 

His  footprints  we  see  now; 

Memory  can  chase  them  away, 

When  it  recalls  love's  bright  warm  day. 

There  would  be  no  joy,  old  age  to  cheer, 
If  memory  did  not  the  feeble  mind  clear; 
And  bring  to  its  view  the  pleasures  of  youth, 
That  no  one  can  claim  but  the  person  in  truth; 
There  would  be  but  little  joy  here  to  claim, 
If  memory  did  not  repeat  it  again. 

[107] 


TIME  FOR  GHOSTS. 

The  midnight  hour  is  the  time  they  say, 

That  ghosts  do  prowl  around; 
They  come  when  silence  is  felt, 

And  there  is  not  a  sound. 
But  if  I  was  one  I  would  not  come 

When  everything  was  still, 
For  I  love  to  hear  the  katydid 

And  the  old  whippoorwill. 

The  sweetest  hour  I  have  found  yet 
Is  the  hour  after  the  sun's  gone  down, 
Before  the  moon  has  shown  his  face 
To  still  the  day  birds  song. 
I  love  to  hear  the  voices  blend, 

Of  the  night  birds  and  the  day ; 
For  their  voices  bring  back  joys  that  are  past, 

And  drive  all  gloom  away. 

Now  if  you  think  you  see  a  ghost, 

As   the   evening   shadows   fall; 
Do  not  disturb  him  with  your  voice, 

Do  not  aloud  then  call. 
But  stop  and  listen   now  yourself, 

For  you  may  hear  the  sweet  call ; 
That  has  attracted  the  wanderer  back, 

From  the  mansions  so  pure  and  tall. 


[108] 


A  SAILOR'S  LOVE. 

You  need  not  speak  of  love  to  me, 

For  my  heart  long  ago  fled, 
And  dwelleth  now  in  the  deep  blue  sea, 

Among  the  silent  dead. 
Why  should  I  seek  to  bring  it  back, 

Among  the  living  to  show 
A  skeleton  of  what  it  was, 

When  love  in  it  did  glow? 

I  have  not  yet  forgotten, 

The  memory  crowdeth  still, 
Into  my  life  it  leaves  no  place, 

That  it  cannot  now  fill. 
It  was  not  only  love  that  held, 

Our  hearts  together  then, 
O !  no,  it  was  a  friendship  dear, 

The  truest  that  ever  has  been. 

And  since  he  left  me  that  bright  day, 

Across  the  sea  to  sail, 
The  sea  has  never  yet  forgot, 

To  send  me  a  sad  wail. 
For  it  must  know  it  doth  conceal, 

A  treasure  it  shall  give, 
Back  to  the  one  who  waits  on  shore, 

That  they  together  may  live. 


[109] 


PROMISES. 

O !  yes,  I  lived  on  promises, 

I  know  the  scanty  store; 
You  need  not  offer  them  to  me, 

O !  no,  not  ever  more. 
For  ofttimes  I  wondered  how, 

I  would  keep  from  begging  bread ; 
While  working  hard  all  through  the  day, 

Hungry  I  went  to  bed. 

And  if  you're  fed  on  promises, 

As  long  as  I  have  been; 
You  would  find  out  how  light  they  are, 

Of  eating  only  them. 
I  thought  at  first  they  tasted  well, 

But  they  much  lighter  grew; 
As  time  passed  the  other  side, 

Was  turned  more  square  to  view. 

There  is  no  strength  in  promises, 

They  have  been  used  by  all 
That's  born  of  Adam's  race; 

Yes,  ever  since  the  fall. 
It  is  not  strange  that  each  one  has, 

To  take  a  bite  or  more, 
Before  they  will  believe, 

Just  what  is  fed  to  the  poor. 


[110] 


WE  KNOW  NOT  LOVE. 

When  love  first  appears  we  do  not  know, 
Whether  it  is  true  or  merely  a  show ; 
It  is  like  the  flowers  that  bloom  in  the  morn, 
When  the  sun  appears  its  beauty  is  all  gone; 
Or  does  it  still  last  through  trouble  and  care, 
And  still  cling  on  till  the  fruit  doth  appear? 

We  know  not  which  it  will  prove  to  be, 
Tho'  the  flower  is  bright  the  fruit  we  must  see ; 
It  may  appear  bright  as  gold  to  the  view, 
But  when  it  is  tried  is  the  weigh,  yes,  there  too  ? 
The  eyes  may  sparkle,  in  youth  it  may  glow, 
But  in  old  age  doth  truth  in  them  show. 

Was  the  youth  thus  spent  in  virtue  tho'  gay, 
That  beauty  may  remain  tho'  the  hair  is  now  gray ; 
We  admire  the  flowers  that  bloom  forth  in  youth, 
But  much  more  we  love  the  fruit,  yes,  in  truth; 
We  know  not  what  the  flowers  may  prove, 
But  we  know  the  joy  and  pleasures  of  love. 


[Ill] 


NEW  YEAR. 

I've  ofttimes  wondered  why  New  Year 

Comes  forth  in  the  winter  cold, 
And  why  it  does  not  come  in  the  spring 

When  the  flowers  do  unfold. 
Perhaps  it  comes  when  the  night  is  cold 

And  the  days  are  dark  and  drear; 
The  bells  are  ringing  now  for  you, 

O !  listen,  can't  you  hear. 

There  is  so  much  to  claim  our  thoughts, 

When  spring  doth  open  wide, 
That  we  perhaps  would  quite  forget 

New  Year  tho'  he  stood  by  our  side. 
But  when  the  nights  are  cold  and  chill, 

And  the  days  seem  dark  and  drear. 
We  welcome  New  Year  to  our  heart, 

We  offer  him  good  cheer. 

The  New  Year  does  not  bring  the  flowers, 
As  spring  is  sure  to  do ; 
But  he  offers  to  us  hopes, 

He  spreads  it  out  to  view. 
And  Hope  ofttimes  gives  more  joy, 

Than  something  that  we  gain ; 
Tho'  it's  in  the  future  still, 

And  may  there  ever  remain. 

And  when  we  think  it  o'er, 

We  are  glad  it  comes  in  the  cold; 

[112] 


For  it  can  warm  us  somewhat, 
When  its  message  is  once  told. 

The  prospect  of  what  is  before, 
Leads  us  far  out  to  view; 

What  is  ahead  of  me  and  mine, 
And  what's  ahead  of  you. 

O !  could  our  hearts  forget  the  ache, 

And  try  some  good  to  do; 
That  we  might  find  our  heart  is  grown, 

Like  the  old  year,  yes,  new! 
We  need  not  wait  till  the  closing  year 

Has  said  the  last  goodbye, 
For  before  the  New  Year  comes  again 

Many  will  surely  die. 

Good   resolutions   live  as   well, 

If  sown  in  the  summer  hour; 
As  if  they  were  stowed  away, 

And  kept  for  New  Year's  shower. 
The  best  thing  is  to  sow  good  seed, 

Each  day  let  some  be  cast; 
For  we  know  not  which  will  yield  the  fruit, 

Until  the  harvest  is  passed. 


[113] 


LOVE  AND  HONOR. 

You  say  you  are  bound  by  love  that  he 
Has  tied  the  cord  and  you  are  not  free ; 
You  are  not  surely  in  his  power, 
Or  you  would  not  regret  the  hour 
When  love  with  his  little  sword  did  slay, 
And  bind  you  for  another  day. 

Its  only  when  love  is  quite  gone, 
One  feels  the  power  that  he  hath  shown, 
And  seeks  to  break  the  band  away 
That  honor  holds  around  to-day; 
Its  only  when  one  seeks  to  sever 
That  love  proves  his  absence  ever. 

Love  has  the  power  to  seek  and  slay, 
And  pierce  the  heart,  yes,  every  day; 
But  he  has  not  the  power  to  bind 
The  heart,  O !  no,  it  is  not  confined ; 
Tis  honor  that  should  hold  on  fast, 
When  love  is,  yes,  forever  past. 


[114] 


TRUST  IN  THE  LORD. 

Trust  in  the  Lord,  He  will  provide, 

Tho'  storms  assail  you  and  the  rough  tide; 

Try  you  severely  your  faith  to  shake, 

Trust  in  the  Lord  and  He  will  make 

You  firmer  and  firmer,  yes,  each  day, 

That  you  for  his  cause  your  strength  may  outlay. 

Your  father  and  mother  may  you  forsake, 
But  the  Lord  He  is  willing  forever  to  take 
You  away  from  your  troubles  and  keep 
You  secure  tho'  you  sail  over  the  deep ; 
You  may  not  be  conscious  that  He  is  beside, 
That  He  is  present  and  will  provide. 

But  why  should  we  not  remember  that  He 
Gave  forth  His  promise  and  it  will  be 
Fulfilled  for  our  good  in  His  own  way, 
And  why  should  we  not  on  his  promise  stay, 
For  now  we  have  His  word  for  our  guide, 
And  we  know  most  assuredly  that  He  will  provide. 


[115] 


THE  ROSE  ALL  ALONE. 

You  speak  of  the  rose  that  bloometh  alone, 
When  all  its  companions  are   faded  and  gone; 
You  seem  to  think  how  in  life  you  would  feel 
If  all  your  kind  friends  should  away  from  you  steal, 
And  leave  you  alone  in  this  world  below, 
Where  there  was  none  to  share  the  love  glow. 

O !  do  not  shake  from  it  its  petals  so  fair, 
Tho'  all  its  companions  lie  silently  there; 
Those  who  have  fallen  have  finished  their  work, 
And  why  should  this  one  from  duty  shirk ; 
O !  let  it  cling  on  to  the  rose  bush  who  bear, 
The  seed  of  the  fallen  who  lie  scattered  there. 

There  may  be  some  triumph  tho'  shadowed  with  grief, 

Felt  by  the  last  rose  who  sheds  forth  relief, 

To  those  who  have  suffered  on  the  journey  of  life, 

To  those  who  have  fallen  mid  trials  and  strife ; 

Pass  on  and  leave  it,  O!  let  it  alone, 

Do  not  shatter  all  hope  for  truth  it  has  shown. 


[116] 


PLIGHTED  TROTH. 

We  stood  on  the  banks  of  a  flowing  stream, 

And  plighted  our  troth   together; 
We  thought  no  earthly  power  could  change, 

That  no  human  hand  could  sever. 
We  looked  out  o'er  the  flowing  stream, 

And  laid  our  plans,  yes,  there! 
We  did  not  think  the  tide  would  turn, 

Or  the  weather  be  but  fair. 

We  didn't  know  the  earth  is  made, 

Of  false  and  shifting  sand; 
We  didn't  know  which  way  to  turn, 
Or  were  on  the  ground  to  stand. 
One  day  we  feel  we  are  rooted  deep, 

In  faith,  hope  and  love, 
And  then  the  next  the  vision  gone 

In  other  fields  to  rove. 

We  need  not  feel  secure  to  stand, 

While  here  on  earth  we  live; 
Tho'  love  is  to  us  offered  free, 

And  we  to  love  do  give. 
Not  that  love  is  changing  ever, 

And  do  not  ofttimes  leave; 
But  the  human  heart  is  frail, 

And  love  it  tries  to  deceive. 

[117] 


And  thus  it  was  to  us  that  day, 

As  on  the  bank  we  stood ; 
We  had  deceived  ourselves,  O  !  yes, 

We  thought  each  other  good. 
We  see  it  clear  to-day, 

As  the  tide  rolls  on  between; 
And  thus  divided  us  here  on  earth, 

As  the  world  has  often  seen. 


LOVE  AS  A  DREAM. 

You  speak  of  love  as  if  'twas  a  dream. 

That  would  soon  pass  away; 
You  speak  of  love  as  if  it  was  a  stream, 

That  would  flow  and  not  stay. 
You  speak  of  love  as  if  it  left, 

Its  building  here  to  decay ; 
To  be  a  dwelling  for  owls  and  bats, 

A  place  where  the  serpents  stay. 

How  has  love  treated  you? 

That  you  think  him  to-day  a  crank, 
That  is  tramping  the  earth  o'er, 

Just  to  play  on  it  a  prank. 
Do  you  think  he  would  build  a  palace  rare, 

And  deck  it  with  jewels  and  gold ; 
If  he  did  not  expect  to  dwell, 

Among  the  wealth  untold? 

[118] 


You  need  not  think  you  will  drive  him  from 

His  dwelling  in  the  heart; 
You  may  shoot  your  poisoned  daggers,  yes, 

But  they  will  pierce  your  heart. 
You  need  not  think  you  can  him  kill, 

And  prepare  your  poisoned  dart; 
For  when  he  sees  you  at  him  aim, 

He  just  holds  up  your  heart. 

Tis  true  he  ofttimes  leaves  the  heart, 

But  he  has  not  been  killed ; 
He  only  left  for  lack  of  room, 

The  best  part  had  been  filled. 
Love  is  much  wiser  than  you  think, 

For  he  has  a  place  prepared ; 
Before  he  quits  his  dwelling  here, 

That  his  own  hands  have  reared. 

And  if  you  wish  for  him  to  stay, 

With  you  all  through  life; 
Defend  him  on  every  hand, 

And  keep  out  sin  and  strife  . 
Love  does  not  leave  his  palace  rare, 

He  has  decked  with  his  own  hand; 
Tho'  you  think  his  adornings  are, 

But  footprints  in  the  sand. 

Love  is  patient,  yes,  we  find, 
That  he  tries  in  the  heart  to  stay; 

[119] 


But  his  dwelling-place  is  not  where, 
Deception   can   live   each   day. 

If  he  has  but  a  cottage  here, 
He  will  not  murmur  or  complain ; 

If  you  keep  the  rooms  all  white, 
Free  from  the  serpent's  stain. 


THE  FATHER'S  WANDERING  BOY. 

Oh !  where  is  my  boy  to-night  ? 

We  hear  the  father  call. 
Oh  !  where  is  my  boy  to-night  ? 

We  hear  the  mother's  echo  fall. 
Is  he  far  out  in  sin  to-day  ? 

Is  he  too  far  for  a  call? 
Can  he  not  hear  the  loud,  sweet  voice  ? 

Is  he  too  old  to  fall? 

Now  father  still  repeat  your  words, 

Still  far  your  son  now  call ; 
He  may  not  be  out  of  your  reach, 

You  may  save  him  'ere  he  fall. 
Your  son  may  be  tired  of  sin, 

He  may  eat  husks  for  bread ; 
So  lift  your  voice  louder  still, 

Before  he  is  quite  dead. 

[120] 


Oh!  where  is  my  boy  to-night? 

We  hear  a  voice  low; 
The  father  is  more  aged  grown, 

And  his  steps  more  feeble  go. 
Now  he  calls  for  his  wandering  boy, 

Who  went  many  years  ago; 
The  boy  went  in  anger  then, 

Why  can't  he  love  now  show? 

The  father  forgot  long  ago, 

The  angry  words  he  said , 
That  drove  his  son  away  from  home, 

That  deprived  him  of  his  bread. 
The  father  only  now  recalls, 

The  good  his  son  did  do; 
He  muses  over  his  return, 

He  longs  his  face  to  view. 

Why  can't  the  son  forget  the  wrong, 

And  remember  the  good  alone? 
Why  can't  he  now  recall, 

The  love  his  father  has  shown? 
If  he  could  but  once  now  see, 

His  father's  face  so  worn  and  sad; 
He  would  be  willing  to  resign  his  will, 

To  make  his  father  glad. 


[121] 


A  CHANCE  IN  LOVE. 

Oh !  when  you  speak  of  love  to  me, 

It  makes  me,  yes,  now  smile; 
For  I  know  it  is  like  the  troubled  sea, 

It  is  changing  all  the  while. 
I  do  not  charge  you  with  deceit, 

For  in  your  eyes  I  see; 
An  earnestness  I  can't  resist. 

Oh !  where  can  I  now  flee  ? 


If  one  can  hide  from  love's  sharp  glance, 

As  he  is  passing  by; 
They  can  walk  out  in  the  full  glare, 

And  not  from  him  then  fly. 
For  he  was  never  known  to  turn 

Out  of  his  course  or  way, 
To  capture  one  who  likes  to  hide, 

Not  even  him  to  slay. 

We  do  not  find  him  wandering  around, 

Trying  his  steps  to  retrace; 
There  is  always  something  bright  ahead, 

For  him  each  day  to  chase. 
And  if  we  let  him  pass  to-day, 

We  can  follow  in  his  wake ; 
But  struggle  as  we  may, 

We  cannot  him  o'ertake. 

[122] 


Oh!  hush,  there  is  another  love, 

That  is  now  passing  by; 
You  need  not  weep  for  the  one, 

You  need  not  for  him  sigh. 
For  many  loves  there  be, 

Traveling  the  same  road; 
Have  I  not  seen  them  passing, 

As  there  in  safety  I  stood. 

So  sing  and  be  happy  to-day, 

Let  love  pass  if  he  will; 
For  another  will  come  who  is  able, 

The  place  in  your  heart  to  fill. 
Love  is  just  as  bright  in  the  future, 

As  it  can  be  in  the  past; 
Love  is  sure  to  leave, 

A  shadow  is  somewhere  cast. 


THE  WORLD'S  CONCEALMENT. 

If  the  world  but  knew  its  own  heart  grief, 
It  would  be  willing  to  seek  for  relief ; 

But  the  joy  of  the  world  is  to  conceal, 
The  grief  and  pain  it  doth  now  feel; 

It  is  not  willing  itself  should  know, 

How  deep  in  the  heart  the  wound  doth  go. 

[123] 


The  world  like  a  bird  seems  happy  and  gay, 
While  the  nest  is  shattered  and  on  the  ground  lay ; 

The  world  seems  to  know  its  heart  in  a  way, 
That's  why  it  appears  so  light  and  so  gay; 

It  knows  if  it  shows  to  itself  its  own  grief, 
I  could  not  expect  from  itself  a  relief. 

Is  it  not  best  to  appear  in  the  lead, 
And  not  to  one's  self  a  failure  concede; 

The  victories  half  won  when  the  general  doth  know, 
That  he  is  quite  able  to  conquer  his  foe ; 

And  if  we  but  knew  we  could  often  gain, 
The  battle  that's  lost  on  life's  rugged  plain. 

The  world  is  not  what  it  seemeUa  to  be, 

And  why  should  we  try  through  the  veil  now  to  see  ; 

For  we  see  quite  enough  to  darken  the  way, 
If  we  did  not  expect  in  the  future  to  see  a  bright  ray ; 

And  the  thought  in  our  heart  that  the  world  don't  know, 
Keeps  us  a  trying  the  laurels  to  show. 


[124] 


UNTRUE  LOVE. 

You  need  not  nurture  in  your  heart, 

A  love  that  is  so  cold, 
That  it  has  to  be  warmed, 

Within  your  garment's  fold. 
You  need  not  welcome  to  your  heart, 

A  love  that  comes  in  the  night; 
For  true  love  never  gropes  about, 

He  cornes  in  the  morning  light. 

Love  does  not  knock  at  man's  heart  now, 

As  the  poet  said  he  did; 
Oh!  no,  he  has  the  key  himself, 

And  he  just  opens  the  lid. 
Wealth  has  a  key,  its  true, 

And  ofttimes  he  doth  gain 
An  entrance  to  the  outward  court, 

But  can  he  the  whole  heart  claim? 


Many  are  satisfied  here  to  dwell, 

With  what  wealth  can  give ; 
Oh!  it  is  nice,  I'm  sure, 

To  here  in  grandeur  live. 
They  can  live  quite  happily, 

If  love  they  will  but  shun; 
But  if  they  glance  into  his  face, 

Their  joy  will  be  undone. 

[125] 


You  need  not  try  to  outdo  love, 

For  many  have  this  found; 
He  travels  o'er  the  foaming  sea, 

And  plans  all  hopes  to  ground. 
He  likes  to  face  his  enemies, 

And  see  them  cowardly  bend ; 
He  likes  to  take  their  heart, 

And  by  his  power  rend. 

He  laughs  at  many  towers  that  stand, 

Which  armies  have  tried  to  storm ; 
He  knows  if  he  was  in  command, 

He  would  take  them  by  his  arm. 
For  he  has  never  failed  to  gain, 

A  battle  when  he  tried; 
Tho'  he  has  fought  on  many  fields, 

And  many  true  hearts  have  died. 

He  never  takes  his  captives, 

And  binds  then  in  disgrace ; 
Oh !  no,  he  gives  them  his  best  robe, 

And  illumes  their  smiling  face. 
We  know  his  subjects  that  we  meet, 

Tho'  in  a  foreign  land; 
Their  companionship  is  sweet, 

They  are  a  home  born  band. 


[126] 


LOVE  IS  NOT  LAID  AWAY. 

Love  is  unlike  a  garment  fair, 

That's  worn  and  laid  away; 
And  then  brought  forth  again, 

As  bright  as  the  first  day. 

Love  travels  through  many  climes, 

And  halts  at  every  door; 
But  when  he  is  driven  far  away, 

He  goes  back  never  more. 

When  love  has  passed  out  of  sight, 
A  traveler  follows  in  his  wake, 

A  skeleton  of  love  himself, 
And  tries   a  home  to  make. 

He  binds  himself  with  laws  strong  chain, 

And  law  alone  can  sever; 
But  love  is  free  from  all  restraint, 

And  will  be  free  forever. 

He  does  not  bring  the  garments  out, 
That  have  been  soiled  and  worn; 

He  never  robes  himself  again, 
In  garments  falsehood  has  torn. 


[127] 


THE  BLUE  AND  THE  GRAY. 

The  blue  and  the  gray 

In  battle  array, 
Met  on  the  field 

All  friendship  to  slay. 
The  hatred  had  grown 

So  large  and  so  great, 
That  nothing  but  war 

Could  change  now  the  fate. 

The  sword  was  drawn 
And  death  he  there  stood, 

To  bind  up  the  wounds; 

O !  yes,  if  he  could. 

And  he  bound  up  the  wounds 
Of  many  who  lay, 

Who  men  in  their  strength 
And  power  did  slay. 

The  fight  it  was  not 

To  the  death  as  we  see, 
For  the  wound  it  was  there 

When  the  victim  was  free. 
The  earth  it  did  open 

Its  mouth  wide  to  take, 
Back  to  its  bosom 

Those  of  its  make. 

[128] 


Many  who  joined 

With  the  blue  and  the  gray, 
Fell  to  the  earth 

In  that  bloody  fray. 
They  received  the  wound 

That  stilled  the  warm   heart, 
And  left  in  the  living 

An  aching  part. 

Time  he  is  trying 

With  his  bandage  to  bind, 
Up  the  old  wounds 

But  death  is  more  kind. 
It  is  him,  yes,  alone, 

Lay  the  blue  and  the  gray, 
In  the  cold  grave 

To  mingle  with  the  clay. 

The  wounds  in  the  heart 

Of  the  blue  and  the  gray, 
Tho'  they  keep  it  from  sight 

And  hide  it  away. 
Each   do  now  fight 

For  our  flag,  yes,  to  sway, 
Over  our  land, 

The  blue  and  the  gray. 

Time  he  is  turning 
The  clods  on  them  all, 

[129] 


Those  who  did  stand 
And  those  who  did  fall. 

There  each  must  rest 
In  silence,  yes,  wait, 

Those  who  did  love, 

And  those  who  did  hate. 

But  may  the  old  earth 

Take  back  to  its  sod, 
All  that  is  not 

For  the  glory  of  God. 
And  may  the  deep  wound 

Be  truly  healed, 
That  each  heart  may 

To  God's  love  then  yield. 


THE  SHEPHERD'S  CARE. 

There  were  ninety  and  nine  in  the  shepherd's  fold, 

Who  had  never  went  astray, 
But  one  was  out  on  the  mountain  cold, 

He  had  wandered  far  away. 

The  shepherd  viewed  his  flock, 

And  saw  that  one  was  gone; 
He  searched   among  the   mountains   rough, 

Until  he  found  the  one. 

[130] 


The  shepherd  found  the  wanderer, 
Out  on  the  mountain  side; 

That  overlooked  the  shepherd's  fold, 
Not  beyond  the  rough  divide. 

If  you  now  wish  to  wander  out, 
Beyond  the  shepherd's  care; 

Keep  on  the  side  where  you  can  see, 
Back  to  the  fold's  bright  cheer. 

For  if  you  get  far  out  of  sight, 

Across  the  sin  divide; 
You  will  be  carried  out  of  reach, 

By  desire's  strong  rushing  tide. 


OTHER  LOVES. 

The  Lord  loves  his  land, 

And  the  miser  he,  too, 
Loves  his  gold  which  he  stores 

Away  from  the  view. 
The  hunter  he  loves 

His  horse,  yes,  most  dear, 
Who  carries  him  on  the  chase 

Without  doubt  or  fear. 

[131] 


And  the  hounds  they,  too, 
Do   their   own   part; 

They  claim  a  place 
In  the  hunter's  heart. 

And  the  bugle  blast 

Sends    forth   a   thrill, 
To  the  soldier's  heart, 

He  loves  it  still. 
As  he  marches  forth 

In  battle  array, 
As  if  all  danger 

Under  his  feet  lay. 
Each  one  has  here 

A  love  to  claim, 
In  honors  high 

Or  low  in  shame. 

All  men  have,  yes, 

A  hobby  race; 
Some  times  they  are 

Quite  out  of  place. 
And  when  they  have 

Them  run  to  earth, 
Perhaps  'tis  then 

Love's  brought  to  birth. 
And  they  awake 

And  see  their  loss, 
They  see  that  self 

Their  path  doth  cross. 

[132] 


The  huntsman  likes 

A  jolly  sound, 
And  the  bugle  has 

No  rival  found. 
Until  love's  dear  hand 

Doth  touch  the  heart, 
And  bring  to  life 

The  sleeping  part. 
The  eyes  are  open 

Then  so  wide, 
They  see  the  other 

Loves  have  died. 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  THE  EYES. 

Look  not  into  my  eyes  lest  I 

Should  show  what  under  the  surface  lie ; 

You  may  have  there  some  sin  to  hide, 

So  do  not  open  them  so  wide. 

For  they  are  windows  that  doth  show, 

The  hidden  part  the  world  don't  know; 

The  eyes  have  many  things  to  tell, 

And  they  who  know  the  language  well, 

Are  not  so  easy  led  astray 

By  those  who  point  another  way. 

[133] 


The  tongue  has  many  languages  to  express 

The  words  that  suit  the  purpose  best, 

But  the  eyes  have  tried  in  vain 

Another  language  to  obtain. 

But  on  every  land  and  every  shore, 

The  language  is  repeated  o'er. 

If  I  love  I  know  the  chance, 

If  in  the  eyes  I  can  but  glance ; 

And  if  the  tongue  seems  to  speak  plain, 

I  look  into  the  eyes  the  truth  to  gain. 

The  eyes  must  be  a  looking-glass  given, 

To  show  if  the  owner  is  striving  for  heaven; 

You  can  look  through  them  to  the  heart, 

They  reveal  the  most  secret  part. 

Keep  the  heart  pure  that  the  eyes  may  show, 

A  conscience  free  as  heaven's  bright  glow ; 

The  eyes  have  a  conscioness  and  they  tell 

What  they  feel  that  the  world  doth  know  so  well. 

Their  language  is  clear,  for  they  close  the  door, 

That  you  may  not  look  just  once  more ; 

Many  languages  have  been  misused, 

But  the  language  of  the  eyes  cannot  be  abused  . 


[134] 


WHAT  WILL  WE  GIVE. 

When  love  has  decided  his  leave  for  to  take, 

What  will  we  not  bring  his  purpose  to  break; 

What  do  we  offer  him  the  best  in  life  we  give, 

If  he  will  change  his  mind  and  still  in  our  home  live  ? 

But  when  he  has  made  a  step  does  he  go 

Back  to  the  old  point,  I  tell  you  here,  no 

Tho'  he  may  stop  and  stand  still, 

He  will  not  go  back  and  the  same  place  fill. 

The  world  should  have  learnt  this  long,  long  ago, 
As  we  view  the  world  does  not  this  truth  show; 
You  may  clip  love's  wings  to  prevent  the  escape, 
But  in  his  place  you  will  find  but  an  ape. 
For  it  is  the  freedom  that  love  doth  wear, 
That  makes  him  so  charming  to  court  everywhere ; 
If  you  bind  him  with  a  chain  that  you  may  keep 
Him  while  you  take  your  rest  in  sleep. 

If  you  expect  your  love  here  to  stay, 

Do  not  bind  him  or  he  will  flee  away; 

Flee  he,  yes,  far  over  the  foam, 

Of  the  bright  sea  to  another  home, 

Where  he  will  rest  secure  from  view, 

Where  you  had  thought  that  you  would  go  too; 

But  now  somewhere  on  the  other  side, 

He  revels  with  another  bride. 

[135] 


SEEKING  HAPPINESS. 

I  wandered  up  and  down, 

'Mid  the  joys  and  pleasures  of  life ; 
Seeking  for  those  who  were  happy, 

Anxious  to  enter  the  strife  . 
I  asked  of  those  who  I  met, 

If  they  were  happy  to-day ; 
Some  smiled  at  me,  and  said  no, 

But  in  the  future  it  lay. 

The  children  are  looking  ahead, 

When  they  are  grown  and  free; 
And  then  they  would  show  to  the  world, 

How  happy  they  could  be. 
And  those  who  were  grown  had  found, 

That  happiness  was  still  ahead; 
And  forth  in  the  race  they  joined, 

But  happiness  still  forward  sped. 

I  asked  the  poor  about  happiness, 

He  looked  around  and  said, 
If  I  had  the  money  of  my  neighbor, 

Happiness   itself  would  be   shed. 
I  would  travel  all  around  and  see, 

What  I  could  do  for  the  poor; 
I  would  never  refuse  to  give, 

And  not  a  beggar  turn  from  my  door. 

[136] 


I  called  on  the  neighbor  thus  named, 

Anxious  him  for  to  meet; 
He  looked  annoyed  when  I  entered, 

But  asked  me  to  take  a  seat. 
I  told  him  of  how  I  heard, 

That  the  blessing  was  showered  each  day; 
That  he  could  afford  to  lounge, 

That  happiness  with  him  did  stay. 

He  smiled  at  my  words  and  said, 

The  world  did  not  the  heart  know; 
It  only  sees  the  outside, 

It  only  looked  at  the  show. 
For  he  was  striving  each  day, 

To  find  an  easy  place 
Where  he  could  be  happy  away 

From  trouble  that  him  did  chase. 

If  you  wish  to  be  happy  each  day, 

Riches  cannot  it  give; 
I  have  seen  it  tried  by  many, 

Who  in  this  cold  world  live. 
Yes,  many  are  happy  we  meet, 

Many  who  seem  gay  and  glad; 
But  they  alone  do  know 

That  the  heart  is  grieved  and  sad. 

Now  we  will  pass  the  world  by, 
And  rejoice  with  those  who  are  gay ; 

And  hope  for  a  happiness  ahead, 
Yes,  in  some  future  day. 

[137] 


The  world  seems  to  understand, 

Yes,  in  a  general  way; 
It  knows  it  is  not  happy, 

Tho'  ofttimes  it  doth  it  say. 

But  may  each  heart  be  glad, 

With  a  joy  that  it  doth  know ; 
And  by  the  path   it  leads, 

May  it  to  the  world  truth  show. 
And  may  each  one  feel  that  joy, 

Awaits  on  the  other  side; 
A  happiness  true  and  lasting, 

Where  no  sin  can  it  divide. 


THE  NEW  YEAR. 

What  do  the  bells  mean 

A  ringing  here  to-night, 
Are  they  all   so  happy 

At  the  old  year's  flight? 
Or  is  it  that  they  are  glad 

That  the  New  Year  has  in  view, 
Prospects    so   bright 

That  the  past  is  hid  from  view. 

I  listened  to  the  bells, 
To  me  they  seem  to  say; 

In  the  midst  of  their  joy, 
They  bring  memory  to  play. 

[138] 


Of  joys  that  are  past, 
That  left  with  the  year; 

Only  memory,  alas ! 
The  cold  heart  to  cheer. 

The  bells  speak  of  youth, 

But  the  heart  is  now  sad, 
Because  the  New  Year 

Seems  happy  and  glad, 
That  the  old  year  is  dead, 

And  passed  out  of  sight, 
As  he  lay  in  his  bed, 

For  cold  was  the  night. 

The  old  year  was  once 

As  bright,  yes,  and  gay, 
As  the  New  Year  is  now — 

But  youth  will  not  stay. 
Old  age  is  forever 

Cast,  yes,   aside, 
When  youth  in  his  prime 

Steps  forth  by  his  side. 

Old  age  has  learned, 

By  experienced  here, 
That  the  place  for  him 

Is  in  the  ground  so  drear. 
Oh !  let  the  life  go, 

When  the  heart  is  dead, 
Why   should  we   grieve 

Or  tears  o'er  it  shed. 

[139] 


We  know  that  the  New  Year 

Shows  forth  its  best, 
But  in  one  short  year 

He  will  sleep  with  the  rest. 
We  will  cast  him  aside, 

As  we  do  now  the  dead ; 
And  look  to  another 

That  opens  ahead. 


SILENCE. 

Silence  is   something 

That  all,  yes,  can  hear, 
It  striketh  all  dumb; 

The  brave  it  do  fear. 
The  dumb  man  can  face, 

The  noise  and  the  din; 
And   fear   but   little — 

But  silence  strikes  him. 

The  soldier  dreads  not 
The  noise  and  rush, 
But  it  is  after  the  battle, 
O !  yes,  'tis  the  hush ; 

[140] 


A  REMEMBRANCE. 


BY   PAUL    H.    HAYNE. 

Softly  shone  thy  lustrous  eyes 

On  that  silent  summer  night, 

Softly  on  iny  warned  heart, 

Thrilling  into  love  and  light, 

Though  from  the  near  mountain's  height 

The  shadows  wrapt  us  solemnly. 

Faintly  fell- the  tremulous  tones 
From  thy  sweet  lips  coyly  won, — 
Dropping  with  the  liquid  lull 
Of  low  rivulets,  by  the  sun 
Courted  from  the  woodlands  dun, 
Into  pastures  glad  and  free. 

Through  the  mazes  of  deep  speech 
Wandered  we,  absorbed — apart — 
On  the  mingled  flood  of  thought 
Drawing  nigh  each  other's  heart — 
Till  we  felt  the  pulses  stari 
Of  a  mystic  sympathy. 

Ah!  those  brief,  harmonious  hours! 
When  their  winged  music  fled, 
Discord  through  all  voices  ran, 
And  the  universe  seemed  dead, 
Only,  moaning  o'er  its  bed, 
I  heard  the  low,  pathetic  sea. 


LIFE. 

Man  hath  a  weary  pilgrimage, 

As  through  the  world  he  wends; 
On  every  stage,  from  youth  to  age, 

Still  discontent  attends; 
With  heaviness  he  casts  his  eye 

Upon  the  road  before, 
And  still  remembers  with  a  sigh 

The  days  that  are  no  more. — South»y. 


down  senseless  by  the  concussion,     v. 
to  the  surprise  of  all,  he  spoke  as  fluently  as  ^tj 
body,  and  heard  and  answered  all  questions  put  to 
"e     him,  and  is,  up  to  this  time,  retailing  language 


s 


H 

We 

A 

Anc 
T 


Si!' 


It. 


Th' 


Art 


Th 

Bu 
O! 


out  in  large  doses. 


MARRIAGES, 


In  this  city,  by  Rev.  John  Duncan,  Mr.  Edward  A. 
Kennard,  of  Elliott,  Mo.,  to  Miss  Susan  M.  Borden,  of 
Cornwallis,  N.  S. 

By  Her.  Chandler  Bobbins,  Mr.  Wm.  C.  Reeves  to  Miss 
Annie  M.  Trainer,  both  of  Boston. 

By  Rev.  George  M.  Preston,  of  Medford,  Mr.  G.  H. 
Ricker  to  Miss  Annie  E.  Libby,  both  of  Boston. 

By  Rer.  Phineas  Stowe,  Air.  Antonio  E.  Ceballor,  of 
Havana,  Cuba,  to  Miss  Mary  C.  Dyer,  of  Lewiston,  Me. 

By  Rev.  Dr.  Stow,  Mr.  Charles  H.  Bannister  to  Miss 
Margaret  L.  Black,  nil  of -Boston. 

By  Rev.  Wm.  C.  High,  Mr.  Charles  W.  Howe  to  Miss 
Amanda  M.  Bartlett. 

By  Rev.  Mr.  Streeter,  Mr.  Nathan  J.  Kendall  to  Miss 
Sophia  C.  Freeman. 

In  Roxbury,  Francis  B.  Perkins  to  Susan  M.  Hunting- 
ton,  all  of  R.  •  • 

In  Medford,  by  Rev.  Theodore  Tibbetts,  Thatcher  Ma- 
goun,  Jr.,  to  Miss  Harriott  Lombard  Norcross. 


DEATHS. 

In  this  city,  Charles  W.,  child  of  Eben  and  Almira  C. 
Flagg,  10  mos.  5  days. 

Mrs.  Lavinia  Bassctt.  46. 

In  Chelfea,  Mrs.  Ann  Pickford,  wife  of  Henry  Pickford, 
iJO  yrs.  6  mos. 

In  Medwav,  Mrs.  Sarah  P.  Sanford,  wife  of  RCT.  D. 
San  ford,  of  M.,  .r>7. 

In  Ashfield,  Mr.  Samuel  W.  Hall.  M. 

In  Wayland,  Mrs   Fannie  J.  Gates   of  Boston,  80. 

In  Eastnampton,  Mr.  Luther  Wright,  85. 

In  New-Haven,  Conn.,  Mr.  Adams  Foster,  formerly  of 
Boston,  68. 

In  Detroit,  Anna  Whittelsey,  daughter  of  Francis  H. 
and  Ellen  C  Clapp.  4  yrs. 

At  sea,  on  hoard  the  stramer-P^nora,  on  fh«  p»f?aj:e 
to  San  Francisco,  Joseph  A.  AVilson,  of  Marblehead,  27. 


That  pierces  more  deep 
Than  the  sword  can  go, 

O!  yes,  it  is  silence 
The  soldier  doth  know. 

O !  yes,  it  is  silence 

After  the  fight, 
That  strikes  to  the  heart 

When  the  sun  shows  the  light. 
O !  yes,  the  monuments 

Over  the  graves  stand, 
In  silence,  but  it 

Respect  doth  demand. 

If  silence  cannot 

In  the  heart  awake, 
A  desire  for  good 

It  doth  the  soul  take. 
The  living  may  strive, 

The  wayward  to  gain; 
But  O!  it  is  silence 

That  wrappeth  the  chain. 

The   wicked  rush   on 

In  their  wild  desire, 
But  death  he  kindles 

In  silence  the  fire. 
That  lays  them  away 

In  earth  for  to  rest, 
In  silence  together, 

The  wicked  and  blest. 

[141] 


O !  yes,  when  the  silence 

Of  the  grave  has  been  broke, 
And  in  one  moment 

The  word  has  been  spoke; 
That  calls  forth  those 

Who  in  silence  sleep. 
Will  they  be  glad, 

Or  will  they  then  weep? 


PURPOSES. 

When  we  start  on  life's  journey, 

Purposes  on  every  hand, 
Grand  and  noble  appear, 

But  O !  how  weak  is  our  hand. 
We  think  we  will  accomplish 

Something  we  can  show, 
With  pride  to  the  world  around  us, 

That  they  may  our  purpose  know. 

But  little  by  little  hope  fadeth, 

Purposes  one  by  one  show; 
Until  we  grow  weary  of  trying, 

And  just  let  the  whole  thing  go. 
Why  should  we  grow  careless, 

Why  should  we  drift  far  away, 
From  that  which  is  noble  and  true, 

Why  should  truth  from  us  stray? 

[1421 


If  we  fail  in  a  purpose  to-day, 

We  should  be  more  determined  to  win; 
And  never  grow  weary  of  trying, 

To  conquer  ourself  and  our  sin. 
We  should  have  a  purpose  and  never 

Stop  short  of  the  prize  here  to  win, 
But  let  each  step  count  upward, 

And  the  heart  have  no  place  for  a  sin. 


THE  FLAG  OF  LIBERTY. 

We  all  love  the  flag  that  doth  unfurl 

To  the  breezes  blowing  high, 
And  we  will  not  see  it  cast  to  the  ground 

There  in  disgrace  to  lie 
For  it  speaks  of  freedom  which  cost 

The  lives  of  our  fathers  who  are  gone, 
And  left  behind  them  memories  so  sweet 

It  hums  in  our  heart  a  sweet  song. 

It  thrills  our  heart  its  glory  to  see, 

Its  danger  to  the  same  doth  give, 
A  strength  that  is  mighty  our  foes  do  know, 

Those  who  escaped  and  now  live. 
And  why  should  it  not  awake 

The  best  in  our  heart  to  show, 
That  the  same  blood  runs  in  our  veins 

That  awaked  in  our  fathers  the  glow. 

[143] 


They  gave  their  life  blood  to  rear 

It  up  in  honor  to  wave, 
And  now  should  we  let  it  fall 

And  be  buried  in  the  cold  silent  grave. 
O!  no,  we  will  keep  it  afloat 

As  long  as  our  men  are  so  brave, 
That  they  cannot  be  bought  with  gold, 

Nor  whipped  like  a  coward  or  slave. 


OLD  AGE  UNWELCOME. 

Go  back  old  age,  we  do  not  ask 

That  you  to  our  bower  should  come ; 
We  had  rather  you  would  go  away, 

In  some  other  clime  seek  a  home. 
We  know  that  you  doth  bring 

Wisdom,  O !  yes,  its  your  store, 
But  we  had  rather  rest  in  peace 

Than  open  to  you  the  door. 

For  old  age  will  surely  steal, 

When  he  is  welcomed  in; 
He  takes  away  the  rosy  cheeks, 

And  furrows  them  with  sin. 

[144] 


He  steals  away  the  life, 
The  warm  heart's  blood,  too; 

He  takes  away  the  sparkling  eye, 
And  darkens  the  bright  view. 

We  ofttimes  chase  him  when  we  are  young, 

And  he  doth  from  us  fly ; 
And  when  sweet  youth  has  passed, 

We  in  his  power  lie. 
We  ofttimes  think  that  life  would  be 

A  glorious  path  to  tread, 
If  we  could  drive  old  age  away 

And  bury  him  with  the  dead. 


RELEASE. 

You  ask  for  your  release  to-night, 

But  you  wish  my  heart  to  bind 
Around  with  a  cord  of  friendship, 

But  love  cannot  thus  be  entwined. 
When  the  tie  of  love  is  broken 

It  falls  to  the  ground  so  low, 
That  it  cannot  be  grafted  again 

And  there  in  purity  grow. 

[145] 


You  need  not  ask  for  your  freedom, 

For  the  cord  cannot  be  untwined, 
And  then  at  your  own  pleasure 

Around  some  new  heart  it  bind. 
The  cord  it  is  now  worthless, 

It  was  spun  by  falsehood's  dream, 
And  now  it  is  passed  away 

As  only  a  soft  flowing  stream. 

It  carries  all  things  before  it, 

And  leaves  in  its  pathway  to  grow ; 
Only  disappointment  and  trouble, 

Does  not  its  trail  this  show? 
How  many  are  happy  and  free, 

That  once  held  the  treasure  of  love; 
But  cast  it  aside  or  shatter, 

The  gift  that  came  from  above? 


TAKE  NOT  LOVE  AWAY. 

You  ask  me  to  return  to  you 
The  love  you  did  once  give, 

Why  do  you  ask  it  of  me  now, 
Tis  for  it  I  do  live? 

[1*6] 


It  was  planted  in  my  heart, 
And  it  deep  root  did  take; 

And  if  it  now  was  forced  away, 
It  would  my  heart,  yes,  break. 

You  must  have  now  forgotten  all 

The  promises  you  gave 
If  I  would  take  your  love  and  keep, 

And  try  its  life  to  save. 
I  opened,  yes,  my  heart  so  true 

Without  a  doubt  or  fear; 
And  shielded  it  from  outward  view 

And  now  I  count  it  dear. 

I  would  be  more  willing  far, 

To  give  my  life  away, 
Than  to  be  forced  in  this  cold  world 

Without  it  here  to  stay. 
Now  if  you  take  sweet  love  away, 

O  !  take  my  life,  yes,  too ; 
For  I  would  rather  go  far  hence, 

Than  not  have  love's  bright  view. 


[147] 


THE  EVENING  BRIGHT  PREFERRED. 

There  are  no  coluds  to  hide 

The  sun's  bright  morning  glow, 
But  where,  alas !  will  it  then  be, 

In  the  evening  will  it  show? 
We  cannot  tell  what  a  day  will  bring 

Tho'  the  morning  is  most  clear; 
The  noon  may  bring  a  storm, 

Or  the  evening  be,  yes,  drear. 

We  don't  ask  that  all  days  be 

Filled  with  a  glorious  light 
But  we  wish  no  cloud  would  come 

So  dark  as  to  hide  the  light. 
We  do  not  ask  that  our  path  may  be 

Smooth,  yes,  all  the  way, 
But  we  wish  the  sun  would  show 

Where  the  danger  in  secret  lay. 

We  love  the  bright  morning  beams, 

That  shine  in  the  way  ahead ; 
We  wish  there  were  no  clouds  so  dark, 

That  they  darken  the  path  we  tread. 
But  if  there  must  be  a  cloud, 

Let  it  come  in  our  young  day; 
For  we  wish  the  evening  to  be  bright, 

As  the  sun  in  the  west  doth  lay. 

[148] 


DECEIVE  NOT  LOVE. 

Love  travels  o'er  the  world  to  find 

A  heart  of  pure  desire, 
And  if  he  is  deceived, 

After  he  has  kindled  the  fire, 
He  quickly  withdraws  the  glow 

And  leaves  the  heart  to  die, 
And  ofttimes  to  the  ways  of  sin 

The  heart  doth  quickly  fly. 

The  heart  deprived  of  love 

Trys  its  skill  to  meet 
Temptation  in  the  way 

But,  O  !  it  is  defeat. 
'Tis  love  alone  that  is  able 

The  tempter's  power  to  withstand, 
That  is  why  we  ofttimes  find 

Many  with  sin's  strong  band. 

You  need  not  try  to  avenge 

Your  heart  by  doing  wrong, 
For  it  would  cause  Satan  to  laugh 

And  sing  his  jolliest  song. 
For  ofttimes  one  is  deceived 

When  they  think  that  love  doth  awake 
In  their  heart  a  warm  glow, 

For  Satan  this  privilege  takes. 

[149] 


TRUE  FRIENDS. 

The  friends  that  are  dear 

Are  the  ones  we  retain, 
They  will  forever 

In  the  heart,  yest,  remain. 
Their  memory  each  day 

Do  in  our  heart  wake 
A  joy  that  the  living 

Can  not  from  us  take. 

We  know  where  to  find  them, 

We  know  where  they  be; 
As  spirits  who  roam 

O'er  the  earth,  they  are  free. 
We  know  not  how  dear 

A  friend  here  can  be, 
Until  he  is  dead, 

Then  his  goodness  we  see. 

To-day  if  we  knew 

The  friends  that  now  live 
Were  as  true  as  the  dead, 

We  could  to  them  give 
The  love  we  have  kept 

In  store  to  cast 
On  the  graves  of  the  dead 

Who  were  true  to  the  last. 

[150] 


LOVE  PRANKS. 

Love  in  his  youth  is  somewhat  blind, 
But  in  old  age  he  has  lost  his  mind; 
This  is  what  the  world  doth  know 
From  what  it  sees  on  the  earth  below ; 
But  sometimes  one  can  lead  the  blind, 
If  they  will  be  so  good  and  kind; 
But  you  may  try  in  vain  to  change 
The  wanderings  of  a  mad  man's  brain. 

Love  in  youth  doth  make  one  smile 
To  see  him  all  the  world  beguile; 
The  young  who  knoweth  not  his  ways 
Are  charmed  by  him  and  offer  praise. 
One  who  has  this  charm  once  known 
Should  in  wisdom  be  more  grown, 
But  what  do  we  instead  now  find, 
A  wandering  of  the  once  strong  mind. 

Those  who  have  won  love's  garb  in  youth 
Should  not  enjoy  his  rode  in  truth, 
That  they  did  cast  aside  to  gain 
Some  money  or  a  note  of  fame. 
Sometimes  I  think  love  gives  them  one 
To  wear  awhile  just  for  the  fun, 
And  when  they  think  the  robe  is  on 
Love  grabs  it  from  them  and  is  gone. 

[151] 


WISHES. 

I  wish  the  days  were  always  bright, 
And  the  sun  in  glory  shine; 

I  wish  the  good  would  walk  in  light, 
And  not  to  sin  incline. 

I  wish  there  was  no  storms  to  cloud 
The  sun's  bright  glorious  ray; 

I  wish  the  light  would  be  so  bright 
That  it  would  show  the  way. 

I  wish  that  all  the  storms  would  come 
When  darkness  hovers  round; 

I  wish  that  all  the  horrid  things 
Were  buried  in  the  ground. 

T  wish  we  could  all  stormy  days 
From  memory's  page  erase ; 

I  wish  we  could  write  something  there 
More   glorious   in   its  place. 


[152] 


DEATH. 

You  say  that  death  is  always  cold, 

His  hand  no  power  can  stay. 
He  is  a  cruel  monarch  bold, 

A  tyrant  every  day. 
Why  do  you  so  severely  judge 

The  ruler  of  our  land 
Why  do  you  now  his  work  advance 

That  give  him  most  command? 

You  say  he  comes  when  the  world  looks  bright, 

And  takes  his  victims  from 
Among  the  gay  and  young  and  light ; 

He  takes  the  workers  strong. 
He  often  leaves  the  poor  and  frail, 

Who  would  yield  to  him  with  joy, 
And  takes  the  strong  and  great, 

As  if  he  was  a  boy. 

You  have  watched  the  mother  dear 

Bend  over  her  dying  child 
With  a  grief  no  tongue  can  tell, 

A  grief  so  fierce  and  wild; 
And  death  stood  there  unmoved, 

With  folded  hands  to  wait, 
Until  the  passage  opened  clear 

And  he  saw  the  golden  gate. 

You  speak  of  those  whose  work  is  done, 
Of  those  who  are  willing  to  go ; 

[153] 


And  ask  why  death  does  wait  so  long, 

Why  don't  he  kindly  show? 
Oh,  death  has  all  his  tickets  sold, 

And  marked  up  to  a  day; 
So  you  need  not  rack  your  brain 

About  the  working  of  his  way. 

Death  is  no  lurking  thief, 

Upon  your  path  to  tread; 
You  sold  to  him  your  life, 

When  you  eat  the  forbidden  bread. 
You  need  not  say  you  have  no  blame, 

When  you  repeat  it  o'er; 
You  do  it  each  and  every  day, 

What  Adam  did  before. 

The  kings  of  earth  upon  their  thrones 

Number  their  subjects  over; 
Some  count  them  by  the  thousand, 

And  some  by  millions  more; 
But  death  is  quite  a  different  king 

Than  those  we  read  about, 
Who  face  their  enemies  on  the  field, 

And  drive  them  forth  and  out. 

Those  kings  have  may  friends, 

Where  bounty  they  bestow ; 
They  tax  their  subjects  for  their  gains, 

And  this  their  subjects  know. 

[154] 


They  hold  a  rod  in  their  righ  hand, 
And  make  the  people  fear; 

They  use  their  power  on  every  hand, 
But  death  stops  their  career. 

The  rich  who  oppress  the  poor, 

And  cause  so  much  distress; 
When  death  comes  them  to  claim, 

Will  find  them  as  the  rest. 
They  may  him  try  to  bribe, 

By  offering  him  their  gold; 
But  he  will  not  turn  aside 

For  riches  yet  untold. 

The  wicked  when  they  meet 

Death  in  their  path  ahead, 
They  ask  him  to  delay, 

Tho'  not  a  word  he  said. 
They  promise  many  things 

To  death  if  will  wait, 
And  not  hurry  them  away 

To  that  uncertain  state. 

And  sometimes  death 

To  them  will  give  a  chance 

To  mend  their  way  before 
They  hear  the  word  advance. 

But,  oh !  how  many  there  are  now, 
Who  gave  a  promise  when 

[155] 


They  had  tried  the  medicine 
And  all  the  skill  of  men. 

The  doctors  have  studied  hard, 

They  can  diseases  fight; 
They  call  to  those  around, 

And  hail  all  those  in  sight. 
But  where  are  all  those  medicine  men 

A  few  years  later  found  ? 
Oh !  they,  too,  are  fallen 

And  buried  in  the  ground. 

The  preacher,  too,  hath  tried  to  gain 

A  hearing  from  the  world; 
They  hollow  out  and  tell  about 

A  flag  that  is  unfurled. 
They  tell  you  how  you  death  can  rob, 

And  how  to  gain  the  day; 
But  when  it  all  is  summed  up, 

They,  too,  are  buried  away. 

The  different  nations,  one  and  all, 

Have  tried  their  power  to  show ; 
They  march  their  armies  out  to  fight ; 

They  stand  them  in  a  row. 
And  all  of  them  would  like  to  have 

A  power  here  below, 
That  they  might  make  their  subjects  kneel 

And  drive  them  to  and  fro. 

[156] 


But  how  glad  I  am  to-day 

That  men  have  not  the  power, 
That  death  doth  claim  from  all, 

And  has  claimed  every  hour 
Since  first  he  took  the  sword  God  gave 

To  him  when  Adam  fell, 
For  if  they  had  ere  this, 

They  would  have  made  a  hell. 

Death  does  not  steal  away 

The  good  name  of  the  past, 
And  then  when  it  has  gained  its  point, 

It  to  disgrace  has  cast. 
Death  is  more  merciful  by  far, 

Than  those  who  have  held  the  power ; 
Who  sway  it  themselves  to  please, 

A  pastime  for  the  hour. 

When  Adam's  sin  was  known, 

And  God  in  judgment  stood; 
Death  stepped  forth  as  a  helper  for 

In  man  to  find  some  good. 
He  has  labored  long  to  find 

When  he  should  come  to  claim 
Those  who  are  in  higher  life, 

And  those  who  walk  in  shame. 

This  ruler  we  are  talking  about, 
The  monarch  of  this  land, 

[157] 


Has  never  yet  been  cheated 

By  all  the  human  band, 
Except  by  Enoch  and  Elijah, 

Who  did  him  just  outride, 
And  gained  the  farther  shore, 

Beyond  the  foaming  tide. 

Now  if  you  see  death  coming 

You  need  not  try  to  run, 
For  he  in  all  the  battles  yet 

Has  never  been  outdone. 
He  often  takes  one  quicker 

When  they  are  on  the  wing, 
Than  if  they  met  him  bravely 

And  quietly  did  sing. 

If  death  did  not  hold  the  power 
To  check  the  wild  career  of  men; 

If  something  had  not  come  forth, 

Oh,  what  would  they  have  been  ? 

Its  only  for  man's  good  to-day 
Death  keeps  a  steady  pace ; 

He  is  always  in  the  front  of  them 
That  he  may  win  the  race. 

Men  try  to  gain  a  famous  name, 

In  one  way  or  another; 
They  muster  forth  their  armies, 

And  death  around  them  hovers. 

[158] 


Man's  sense  must  have  left  this  world, 

And  dwells  far  out  beyond ; 
Does  he  not  know  in  the  ways  of  sin 

Death  is  more  easier  found? 

There  would  not  be  so  much  distress 

On  this  cold  earth  below, 
If  men  would  follow  what  is  right, 

Just  what  they  here  do  know. 
But  so  many  now  we  see, 

Wandering  out  of  the  way  to  find 
Something  new  and  stylish, 

Something  more  suited  to  the  mind. 

Death  is  the  wages  of  sin, 

And  man  labors  every  day; 
And  why  does  he  cowardly  shrink 

When  he  is  offered  his  pay? 
There  is  no  counterfeit  here, 

You  get  just  what  you  earn. 
You  can  offer  no  complaint, 

Tho'  the  Judge  is  very  stern. 

There  are  many  things  I  could  say 

The  death  sentence  to  defend, 
But  you  see  and  know  it  is  true, 

And  you  will  know  it  to  the  end. 
Death  does  not  do  all  his  work  in  the  night, 

Tho'  you  lend  him  a  helping  hand ; 

[159] 


He  comes  in  the  daylight,  too. 
Oh,  can't  you  understand? 

There  is  only  one  thing  to  do, 

And  that  is  the  soul  to  save; 
And  now  the  thing  for  you 

Is  to  show  the  way  to  the  brave. 
Show  by  your  work  that  death 

Is  kind  to  them  that  are  good, 
The  angels  come  to  welcome 

Those  who  have  faithfully  stood. 


TRYING  TO  PLUCK  THE  FLOWERS. 

You  say  as  you  walk  through  this  world  below, 
You  will  pluck  all  the  flowers  that  in  your  path  grow ; 
But  I  will  tell  you  now  that  all  the  flowers  that  grow 
Are  just  out  of  reach  of  the  mortals  below. 

If  you  see  them  in  front  or  growing  beside, 
Do  not  reach  for  them,  oh,  let  them  abide, 
That  others  may  along  this  same  road, 
Find  something  that  is  bright  and  not  a  dead  sod. 

The  flowers  that  you  see  as  you  pass  life's  road, 
Are  growing  there  only  for  the  garden  of  God. 
They  are  just  planted  there  near  life's  rough  road 
That  the  weary  may  see  and  trust  in  the  Lord. 

[160] 


You  cannot  pluck  the  flowers  that  grow  on  life's  way, 
Unless  far  out  from  duty  you  stray. 
When  out  in  His  vineyard  God  doth  you  send, 
Does  he  command  you  the  flowers  to  rend? 


THE  DYING  SOLDIER. 

A  soldier  lay  dying  one  dark  night; 
I  sat  by  the  bedside  to  see  the  last  fight; 
He  had  won  many  honors  during  his  life; 
Now  will  he  be  disgraced  in  the  last  strife? 

He  had  fought  many  battles  and  gained  them  all ; 
Now  he  had  faltered,  he,  too,  must  fall; 
We  waited  and  watched  for  to  see 
If  any  returning  reason  there  would  be. 

They  say  the  darkest  hour  is  just  before  day, 
Thus  the  great  soldier  quietly  lay ; 
We  watched  through  the  long  night 
To  see  the  end  of  the  last  fight. 

Just  as  the  morn  so  sweetly  did  break, 
The  soldier  rose  up  with  a  mighty  shriek, 
Oh!  bring  me  my  sword  and  spear,  too, 
For  an  enemy  I  am  sure  I  now  view. 

[161] 


We  placed  his  sword  and  spear  beside, 
He  fiercely  grasped  them,  then  he  cried: 
Oh,  I  thought  it  was  an  enemy, 
But,  oh,  look  yonder,  don't  you  see? 

Oh,  it  is  death,  I  am  sure  it  is  he, 
For  he  is  coming  this  way  for  me; 
I  have  so  many  foes  to  fight, 
I  am  willing  with  him  to  go  to-night. 

I  had  rather  be  by  death  slain 
Than  live  bound  with  an  enemy's  chain; 
So  take  my  sword  and  spear  away, 
And  keep  them  for  another  day. 


NO  IMPROVEMENT  IN  LOVE. 

You  are  in  love,  what  is  it  you  say? 

It  is  only  a  dream,  it  will  soon  pass  away; 

It  is  only  a  crag  on  which  you  may  stand,, 

And  if  you  are  not  careful  you  will  lose  your  command, 

And  then  you  would  be  more  happy  by  far, 

If  you  had  not  climbed  the  rickety  stair. 

Many  who  have  fallen  from  their  height 
Will  try  again  if  spared  but  their  life. 

[162] 


You  need  not  put  forth  a  warning  to  show 
The  way  one  should  travel  and  where  they  should  go, 
For  they  will  keep  climbing  up  the  same  way 
As  long  as  time  lasts  and  on  earth  they  do  stay. 

There  is  always  a  place  and  a  time  to  stop, 
But  in  love  every  one  seeketh  the  top; 
And  if  they  should  struggle  and  sail 
All  their  life  through  they  tell  the  same  tale. 
In  many  things  there  is  victory  to  gain, 
But  it  is  not  so  in  love — you  only  remain. 

There  are  battles  to  fight  and  victories  to  win, 

When  fighting  'mid  life's  pleasures  or  fighting  with  siifc. 

There  is  always  advancement  in  every  career — 

A  place  that  is  higher,  competition  to  fear ; 

A  starting-place  to  make  and  experience  to  gain ; 

And  there  is  a  worth  while  in  the  field  to  remain. 

'Tis  not  so  with  love  when  he  comes  to  our  view,. 
He  is  as  bright  as  the  morning's  flesh  dew. 
You  cannot  improve  him,  for  many  have  tried. 
And  when  they  failed  they  deeply  sighed. 
If  love  in  the  end  has  not  waned, 
You  have  won,  the  victory  is  gained. 


163] 


JESUS  IS  CALLING. 

i 

Jesus  is  calling  now  for  you; 

Go  work  in  His  field  to-day. 
He  offers  you  a  starry  crown — 

He  offers  you  much  pay. 
And  why  do  you  stand  idly  here; 

Oh,  why  do  you  delay? 
He  passeth  near  and  calleth  loud — 

He  calleth  you  to-day. 

If  He  had  plenty  of  workers  now 

He  would  not  on  you  call, 
But  so  many  are  alike — 

He  gives  the  chance  to  all. 
He  is  passing  near  you  now; 

Oh,  don't  you  hear  His  call? 
Why  don't  you  now  obey? 

Why  not  in  line  now  fall? 

The  work  would  be  much  easier  far, 

You  think  if  you  had  your  pay; 
But  you  would  spend  it  idly  round, 

As  you  do  your  time  to-day. 
Precious  time  is  passing, 

It's  passing  fast  away; 
While  Jesus  now  is  calling, 

Why  don't  you  Him  obey? 

[1641 


GATHER  THE  WITHERED  FLOWERS. 

Gather  the  flowers  that  the  world  has  cast 
Aside  as  worthless  when  their  beauty  is  past; 
Nourish  and  cherish  and  bring  them  again 
Back  to  a  life  that  will  always  remain. 

Gather  them  up,  those  who  are  soiled, 
Those  whose  life  and  pleasure  are  spoiled; 
Bring  them  back  that  the  fragrance  they  shed 
May  not  be  wasted,  may  not  be  dead. 

Many  bright  flowers  have  been  worn  for  a  night 
And  then  cast  aside  when  the  sun  shone  bright ; 
Visit  the  ball-room  and  see  the  display 
Of  the  flowers  that  are  worn  and  then  cast  away. 

If  you  have  pity  for  the  flowers  that  grow — 
Those  who  were  plucked,  your  pity  now  show; 
Bring  them  back  to  life,  though  their  beauty  is  fled, 
Still  in  the  world  their  fragrance  may  be  shed. 

If  you  should  pluck  the  flowers  that  grow, 
Do  not  throw  them  aside,  do  not  let  them  go ; 
But  keep  them  near  you,  their  fragrance  will  give 

You  strength  and  courage  more  better  to  live. 

i 

You  may  not  be  blamed  for  the  flowers  that  are  cast 
Aside  by  others  when  their  beauty  is  past; 

[165] 


Why  should  you  trample  on  those  who  are  down? 
Why  should  you  give  them  only  a  frown? 

Why  not  bury  those  who  are  dead, 
Those  whose  beauty  and  fragrance  are  fled? 
Why  should  you  flaunt  before  the  world's  gaze 
Things  that  are  not  worthy  of  praise? 

If  you  cannot  speak  good  of  one  another 

Why  should  you  mention  their  name  to  a  brother? 

Why  should  you  not  their  memory  lay 

Away  in  the  graveyard  and  there  let  it  stay? 


IF  YOU  ARE  A  STRANGER. 

If  you  are  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land 
Remember  that  Jesus  is  ever  at  hand 
To  keep  and  guide  you  and  with  you  to  be, 
Whether  on  land  or  drifting  at  sea. 

All  he  requires  is  that  you  should  call 
Before  you  are  out  of  reach  or  you  fall. 
Listen  to  Jesus,  he  points  out  the  way — 
He  offers  you  help,  oh,  now  Him  obey. 

He  never  has  failed  those  who  have  tried. 
He  is  always  near ;  He  will  provide. 

[166] 


The  sea  may  be  rough  and  your  bark  may  be  small 
But  he  is  sufficient,  Jesus  is  all. 

If  you  think  your  boat  weak  and  fear  the  loss 
Resign  it  to  Jesus,  and  the  ocean  is  crossed; 
For  He  carries  all  safely  to  the  other  side, 
Who  in  Him  trust,  and  in  Him  confide. 


SPRING  HAS  PASSED. 

The  spring  has  passed,  the  summer  is  here; 
The  flowers  have  cast  and  the  harvest  is  near ; 
The  reapers  have  come  to  cut  and  to  bind 
The  sheaves  into  bundles  they  are  entwined. 
They  gather  them  in  while  the  weather  is  fine; 
They  press  them  together  and  closely  entwine, 
And  carry  them  off  to  be  stored  away 
To  the  barn  to  await  the  threshing  day. 

They  watch  to  know  when  the  grain  is  ripe; 
They  watch  for  the  color  and  wait  till  it  is  white; 
They  apply  the  cycle  for  they  know  it  will  waste 
If  it  is  left  in  the  field  by  the  wind  to  be  chased. 
They  gather  the  seed  first,  that  which  is  pure; 
They  save  the  seed  that  is  first  to  mature ; 
The  seed  that  is  sown  should  be  of  the  best — 
This  is  why  harvest  is  not  a  mere  jest. 

[167] 


And  why  should  we  complain  at  God's  plan, 

Though  some  He  doth  take  and  some  He  lets  stand. 

He  knoweth  as  well  as  the  reapers  do — 

When  the  grain  is  ripe  He  knoweth  from  the  view. 

And  why  can't  He  take  His  own  to  His  shed, 

And  store  it  away,  why  not  instead. 

He  saves  His  grain,  it  is  safe  from  the  snare — 

From  Satan  and  death  which  reigns  everywhere. 


I  CAN'T  PRAISE  WINTER. 

You  ask  me  to  write  about  winter  to-day, 
But  how  can  I  praise  him  when  I  know  he  will  slay 
The  green  foliage  that  now  covers  the  trees 
And  leave  them  bare  to  shiver  and  freeze? 

And  he,  too,  will  take  the  songsters  away, 

That  chirp  so  lively  all  through  the  day. 

You  say  he  can  cover  all  things  around 

With  a  beautiful  mantle  that  summer  has  not  found. 

Oh,  yes,  I  know  him;  I  have  seen  him  before; 
His  acquaintance  I  have  made,  so  I  shut  too  the  door 
When  I  see  him  approaching  that  I  feel  not  his  clasp, 
Lest,  too,  I  should  wither  when  once  in  his  grasp. 

[168] 


I  know,  too,  his  mantle  you  speak  of  is  snow, 
But  it  driveth  away — the  summer  must  go. 
I  know  that  the  winter  beauty  doth  give, 
But  I  love  the  flowers  that  in  summer  doth  live. 

The  birds  have  discovered  the  place  where  to  go, 
So  now  in  the  winter  they  leave  the  white  snow ; 
They  go  to  the  land  where  the  flowers  stay 
Because  they  love  things  bright,  warm  and  gay. 

I,  too,  would  follow  them  in  their  flight 
If  I  had  the  wings  that  would  carry  me  right; 
I  would  away  from  this  cold  land  go 
Where  it  is  wrapped  in  its  mantle  of  snow. 

For  what  is  the  worth  when  all  is  so  cold 

To  stay  away  from  the  flowers  and  gold; 

I  cannot  praise  the  winter  while  the  summer  is  near, 

Lest  the  flowers  that  grow  on  the  road  should  hear. 

I  may  say  something  in  favor  of  winter  one  day, 
But  not  just  now  in  the  sweet  month  of  May. 
I  am  too  happy  when  the  soft  breezes  play 
To  have  anything  in  mind  about  winter  to  say. 


[169] 


LOVE  THE  TREES. 

If  I  knew  the  language  the  trees  do  tell 

Out  in  the  woods  where  the  birds  love  to  dwell ; 

If  I  but  knew  their  whisperings  low 

As  the  breezes  wave  them  to  and  fro. 

I  would  build  my  home  and  have  them  around ; 
I  love  to  hear  their  murmuring  sound. 
Their  voices  together  would  sing  me  to  rest, 
And  there  I  would  dream  of  the  home  of  the  blest. 

I  am  not  surprised  that  the  birds  do  show 

Their  preference  for  the  place  where  the  trees  grow, 

For  I  myself  like  their  voice  to  hear 

As  they  murmur  so  sweetly  when  no  one  is  near. 

I  cannot  feel  lonely  when  around  me  they  dwell, 
For  they  whisper  their  secrets,  they  do  me  tell 
Of  the  spirit  that  is  present  with  them  here — 
A  life  that  is  joyous,  a  life  that  is  dear. 

Why  should  we  not  those  monarchs  love, 
For  they  shelter  our  homes  from  the  hot  sun  above. 
They  give  us  sweet  health  when  they  are  near, 
They  spread  forth  their  branches  as  if  us  to  cheer. 

They  seem  to  love  the  dwelling  of  men, 

For  they  spread  their  boughs  much  wider  when 

[170] 


They  are  planted  near  to  make  a  shade — 
They  show  their  strength  is  all  outlayed. 

It  must  be  sad  in  the  woods  to  be 
When  a  woodman  fells  a  monarch  tree, 
To  hear  the  weeping  all  around 
For  the  one  who  lies  prone  on  the  ground. 

If  the  earth  is  made  over  again 
I  think  the  trees  will  in  it  remain, 
They  may  be  there  as  at  the  first 
Before  man's  sin  the  world  had  cursed. 


THINGS  THAT  ARE  NEW. 

Tell  me  something  that  is  new, 

Something  the  world  has  not  brought  to  view. 

Oh,  there  are  inventions  every  day, 

Explorers  have  many  things  to  say. 

The  astronomers  view  the  skies, 

And  tell  you  when  the  stars  do  rise. 

All  things  told  on  earth  doth  grow, 

Older  and  older  as  time  doth  show. 

But  there  is  one  thing,  said  the  sage, 
As  he  turned  another  page. 

[171] 


It  is  love,  you  need  not  start, 
For  it  affects  the  strongest  heart. 
It  ages  the  youth,  oh,  yes,  to-day; 
And  it  youthens  one  who  is  gray. 
It  is  something  new  for  every  one — 
Its  story  cannot  be  outspun. 

This  story  cannot  by  one  be  learned, 

For  many  have  tried  it  and  been  spurned. 

This  story  is  to  one  revealed, 

Though  for  a  while  it  is  concealed. 

It  changes  all  things  near, 

The  sky  itself  looks  more  clear. 

You  who  have  never  felt  the  glow 

Cannot  the  fruit  of  it  now  show. 

You  think  the  story  now  is  old, 
For  it  has  been  o'er  and  o'er  told. 
Oh,  yes,  I  see  what  you  have  lost, 
For  you  have  not  to  the  shore  crossed. 
You  know  not  of  the  things  that  are  new- 
Just  wait  until  this  light  you  view, 
Then  you  will  know  your  love  is  best, 
You  will  be  just  like  all  the  rest. 

Love  has  a  charm  for  each  to  wear, 
You  need  not  look  at  me  and  stare; 
This  charm  is  not  like  others  worn, 
Oh,  no,  this  has  to  the  world  been  shown. 

[172] 


The  best  of  it  is  quite  concealed, 
'Tis  only  'mid  hardships  it  is  revealed. 
The  world  can't  on  this  jewel  gaze, 
Though  oft  it  offers  it  its  praise. 

Love  has  been  told  to  the  right  and  poor, 

Oh,  yes,  but  it  is  new  every  time  from  the  store. 

The  one  who  heard  it  last 

Knows  it  never  was  in  such  light  cast. 

It  was  told  by  the  two  who  came 

To  people  the  earth  just  the  same, 

And  the  reason  it  is  always  new 

It  is  kept  in  the  heart  away  from  view. 


WHAT  IS  LOVE? 

What  is  love,  you  ask  me  to-day. 
What  is  love,  oh,  tell  me,  I  pray? 
Is  he  an  angel,  as  some  seem  to  think, 
Or  is  he  a  nymph  from  the  light  to  shrink? 

You  need  not  ask  me  about  love  alone, 
For  the  world  hath  seen  him,  they,  too,  have 

known. 

You  can  ask  the  rich,  you  can  ask  the  poor ; 
You  can  ask  the  beggar  who  stands  at  the  door. 

[173] 


Love  has  traveled  all  the  earth  around, 
There  is  not  a  spot  in  the  world  yet  found 
Where  he  has  not  his  footsteps  shown; 
He  visits  the  hovel  and  the  throne. 

You  need  not  think  by  flying  high 
You  will  escape  his  piercing  eye, 
For  many  have  tried  a  height  to  gain, 
But  they  in  his  coils  fast  remain. 

The  poor  man  has  but  little  here 
Of  which  to  build  a  palace  dear; 
But  love  does  not  in  haste  pass  by; 
He  smiles  on  him  with  a  friendly  eye. 

The  king  upon  his  throne  does  find 
Discontentment  in  his  mind 
When  love  has  passed  him  on  one  side 
And  made  his  love  another's  bride. 

The  rich  man  with  his  golden  store, 
Who  counts  his  money  more  and  more; 
He  finds  his  money  a  worthless  pile, 
When  it  is  compared  with  a  lover's  smile. 

The  astronomers  who  have  searched  the  skies 
But  come  tumbling  down  for  two  bright  eyes. 
The  wise  man  lay  aside  his  books 
To  learn  a  lesson  in  ladies'  looks. 

[174] 


The  soldier  who  hath  stood  before 
The  cannon's  mouth,  yes,  o'er  and  o'er; 
They  find  they  have  no  power  to  stand, 
Against  a  smile  and  a  slim  white  hand. 

You  need  not  race  over  land  and  sea 
To  escape  from  love,  for  you  will  be 
Captured  by  him,  then  you  will  own, 
That  he  is  ruler  of  this  earthly  throne. 


A  FLOWER  CLOSED. 

A  flower  that  has  bloomed  and  closed  from  our  view 
Will  not  open  again,  though  heaven's  kind  dew 
Is  shed  on  it  often  when  evening  doth  fall; 
So  it  is  with  you  now — so  it  is  with  us  all. 

So  it  is  when  love  its  best  part  doth  give, 
It  is  only  once  in  the  same  heart  doth  live; 
Or  at  least  it  will  never  seem  quite  the  same; 
All  love  in  the  future  will  be  quite  tame. 

Strive  as  you  may  when  a  flower  is  dead, 
When  the  bright  petals  have  all  been  shed, 
You  can  nourish  and  cherish  the  bush  where  it  grew, 
And  perhaps  in  the  future  the  seed  you  will  view. 

[175] 


So  if  you  have  loved  in  your  youth,  do  not  fear, 
Some  time  in  the  future  the  seed  will  appear; 
When  the  flower  has  shed  all  the  petals  around, 
Nourish  the  tree,  for  the  seed  in  it  found. 

If  love  is  from  you  forever  past, 
Do  not  away  the  sweet  memory  cast; 
Plant  it  deep  down,  in  the  heart  let  it  grow, 
That  a  pure  life  here  on  earth  may  show. 


THE  WEAVER. 

The  weaver  sits  at  the  loom,  you  say; 
He  weaveth  all  night,  he  weaveth  all  day. 
He  takes  the  threads  that  you  have  spun, 
He  weaveth  them  in,  yes,  every  one. 

The  weavers  of  your  thread  doth  take 
And  weave  them  in  a  robe  to  make, 
That  you  before  the  Judge  may  stand, 
Clothed  in  the  work  of  your  own  hand. 

The  weaver  weaves  all  the  threads  in, 
Those  of  love  and  those  of  sin; 
He  taketh  them  from  your  own  mind, 
And  weaveth  them  in  of  every  kind. 

[176] 


You  cannot,  when  the  work  is  done, 
Change  the  threads  that  you  have  spun; 
If  the  weaver  hath  them  cast, 
Through  the  heart  the  work  is  passed. 

The  loom  around  and  around  doth  wind 
The  cloth  which  is  the  conscience  entwined. 
Will  the  right  side  then  appear 
The  conscience  which  should  be  most  clear? 

The  Judge  will  know  the  full  intent 
Of  every  purpose  and  how  it's  spent. 
He  will  know  when  the  threads  are  cast, 
If  they  are  round  the  heart  then  passed. 

You  cannot  murmur  or  complain 
At  the  robe  that  is  given  if  it  has  stain, 
For  you  each  day  a  thread  have  spun, 
And  conscience  wove  them  every  one. 

You  will  be  judged  by  the  robe  you  wear 
When  you  reach  the  top,  the  head  of  the  stair. 
You  should  each  day  a  love  cord  spin, 
That  is  so  large  it  will  hide  all  sin. 

The  thread  of  love  should  be  woven  in, 
And  this  day  now  your  work  begin, 
To  spin  the  threads  of  gold  around 
Each  weak  place  that  is  not  sound. 

[177] 


MOSES. 

Could  I  but  climb  the  mountain, 

Where  Moses  stood  of  old, 
And  view  the  land  of  promise, 

A  land  of  pure  gold. 
I  think  I  would  be  willing, 

As  he  seemed  to  be, 
To  sail  out  over  the  ocean 

Of  vast  eternity. 

We  do  not  read  that  he 

Complained  about  God's  plan ; 

He  held  on  to  the  promise, 
And  he  followed  like  a  man. 

He  had  traveled  through  the  wilderness, 
And  done  what  he  could 

To  raise  Israel  up 

And  show  him  the  way  to  God. 

Israel  had  been  so  determined 

To  follow  in  their  way, 
Of  other  nations  around  them 

That  Moses  a  little  did  stray. 
And  we  find  him  now  standing 

On   the  mountain  to   see 
The  land  beyond  the  river, 

The  land  of  the  happy  and  free. 

[178] 


Now  do  you  think  that  Moses 

Had  only  this  land  in  view 
As  he  toiled  up  the  mountain, 

Don't  you  suppose  he  saw,  too? 
Do  you  think  he  was  close  sighted, 

That  he  could  not  see  afar 
Out  beyond  this  world  and  sin, 

For  he  knew  God  was  everywhere? 

Moses  had  lived  a  life  of  faith, 

For  oft  it  had  been  tried; 
The  Lord  had  proved  him  true, 

And  in  him  he  could  confide. 
He  told  him  about  his  work, 

And  laid  before  him  his  plan, 
How  he  would  send  His  Son, 

And  save  poor  fallen  man. 

So  Moses  worked  for  a  purpose, 

He  kept  it  always  in  view; 
This  is  why  he  was  unselfish, 

And  was  noble,  too. 
He  did  not  work  for  a  name, 

As  many  do  this  day; 
He  only  worked  for  God's  glory, 

And  showed  man  the  narrow  way. 

We  read  not  of  his  portion, 
When  the  spoil  was  brought  in; 

[179] 


Nor  did  he  hoard  up  a  treasure, 

Until  it  became  a  sin. 
We  read  not  of  his  garments 

Being  decked  with  jewels  and  gold ; 
Still  he  had  a  treasure, 

The  wealth  can  never  be  told. 

He  did  not  seek  the  honor 

That  cometh  from  man  below, 
For  he  had  the  honor 

Of  seeing  the  Lord,  Who  knows 
How  false  and  frail  are  mortals 

Who  on  this  earth  abide, 
Who  seek  their  sin  to  cover 

And  their  falsehood  to  hide. 

Now  when  he  sees  his  work  is  done, 

He  does  not  falter  and  complain, 
But  climbs  right  up  the  mountain 

And  there  on  the  top  remains 
Until  the  Lord  reaches  down 

And  loosens  the  binding  chain 
That  bound  his  soul  and  body 

From  the  power  of  Satan  and  men. 


[180] 


THE  ONE  ASTRAY. 

There  was  one  that  had  gone  astray, 
Far  out  on  the  mountains  cold ; 

The  shepherd  counted  his  o'er 
And  found  it  had  left  the  fold. 

He  left  the  ninety  and  nine 
Safely  sheltered  in  the  fold; 

And  followed  out  for  the  one  astray, 
Far  out  on  the  mountains  cold. 

He  found  him  wandering  far  away, 

So  far  away  in  the  cold; 
He  placed  him  in  his  bosom  there, 

And  carried  him  back  to  the  fold. 

He  called  to  those  who  were  looking  out 
From  the  shelter  of  the  fold; 

"Rejoice,  I  have  found  the  wandered  who 
Has  been  away  in  the  cold." 


[181] 


THE  SOLDIERS'  GRAVE. 

Once   I   beheld   the  graves   of   the   dead, 
Where  our  brave  soldiers  their  life  blood  had  shed; 
I  viewed  the  tombs,  the  monuments  grand, 
That  had  been  reared  in  honor  of  those  who  did  stand 
For  freedom  when  duty  gave  forth  a  call, 
For  those  who  were  willing  in  line  to  just  fall; 
They  were  more  willing  to  die  with  the  brave 
Than  to  rule  as  a  coward  or  live  like  a  slave. 

We  thought  of  the  men  whose  word  of  command 
Steered  the  army  at  sea  and  swayed  it  on  land; 
Their  presence  a  spirit  of  freedom  did  awake 
In  the  hearts  of  the  men  whose  homes  were  at  stake; 
They  fought  for  their  country  and  died  it  to  save, 
And  why  should  we  not  remember  the  brave, 
And  plant  flowers  on  their  graves  to  show 
That  we  have  not  forgotten  them,  oh,  no. 

We  know  they  are  sleeping,  but  oh,  tell  me  where 
Are  they  in  the  cold  grave  or  up  in  the  air? 
Do  they  rest  in  peace  or  are  they  troubled  still; 
Is  there  in  the  future  a  duty  to  fill? 
They  gained  the  victory  on  earth;  do  they  know 
That  their  memory  is  cherished  and  loved  by  us  so 
That  we  now  do  follow  in  their  footsteps  they  made 
That  leads  us  to  freedom  from  slavery's  dark  shade. 

[1821 


LIVING  IN  THE  COUNTRY. 

If  you  wish  in  my  heart  good  thoughts  to  awake 
Take  me  to  the  country  that  man  cannot  make; 
Let  me  breathe  the  pure  air  that  crime  has  not  stained; 
That  sin  in  his  clutches  has  not  yet  chained. 

Let  me  live  in  the  country  where  the  conscience  is  free, 
Where  the  breath  of  heaven  is  for  you  and  for  me; 
Where  it  is  not  stained  by  man's  greed  to  gain; 
Where  the  blessings  of  heaven  ar  showered  like  rain. 

Let  me  dwell  in  the  country  where  health  can  be  found; 
Where  the  birds  sing  and  chirp  all  the  day  round; 
Where  the  night  wind  whispers  it  breezes  so  low, 
And  the  trees  gently  waive  to  and  fro. 

Oh,  yes,  to  the  country  now  let  me  go, 
For  it  is  the  soil  in  which  all  things  grow. 
The  cities  without  it  would  starve,  yes,  and  die, 
For  they  have  nothing  on  which  to  rely. 


[183] 


THERE  WILL  BE  JOY  IN  HEAVEN. 

There  will  be  joy  in  heaven, 

There  will  be  joy  to-day 
Over  the  wanderer  coming 

In  from  sin's  highway. 
Bring  the  sinner  to  Jesus, 

Bring  them  in  to-day 
That  they  may  be  washed  in  his  blood — 

Let  their  sins  be  washed  away. 

Tell  them  about  the  Savior, 

Tell  them  he  died  to  save 
Just  such  as  they  be, 

His  precious  blood  he  gave. 
Jesus  himself  is  asking 

The  sinner  now  to  come 
And  accept  the  title  he  offers 

To  those  who  have  no  home. 

If  you  are  weary  of  sin, 

If  you  are  tired,  come, 
For  Jesus  stands  awaiting — 

He  offers  you  a  home. 
There  is  no  other  place, 

No  other  way  to  come ; 
Jesus  stands  in  the  door 

And  calls  you  to  come  home. 

[184] 


TIME'S   MIGHTY   HAND. 

Time's  mighty  hand  hangs  over  us  all, 
Could  we  from  the  past  some  moments  recall, 
And  place  them  where  they  should  have  been  spent, 
That  time's  rough  face  might  somewhat  relent, 
And  he  would  feel  kindly  towards  us  and  show 
His  kindness  towards  us  and  let  us  light  go. 

When  we  are  judged  by  time's  mighty  hand, 
We  only  creep  forward,  we  cannt  stand; 
He  lays  his  hand  on  us,  we  under  him  reel, 
There  are  but  few  his  power  do  not  feel; 
He  takes  from  the  head  the  hair,  dark  and  gold, 
And  there  in  its  stead  with  silver  enfold. 

In  his  own  pleasure  his  hand  doth  fall 

On  the  rich  and  poor,  he  spares  none  at  all ; 

Many  have  tried  his  marks  to  erase 

From  beauty's  fair  brow  his  footsteps  to  chase ; 

They  have  studied  and  planned  his  works  to  undo, 

But  still  his  work  doth  stand  for  our  view. 

Time  goes  round  and  round  in  the  race; 
It  has  never  gone  backward  but  in  one  place, 
And  that  was  once  God  wished  to  show 
That  He  had  power  to  make  time  go. 
The  good  had  a  victory  on  earth  to  win, 
And  time  was  in  favor  of  blotting  out  sin. 

[185] 


If  we  wish  time  to  favor  or  to  be  kind, 

We  should  show  towards  him  a  feeling  of  mind, 

That  we  wish  him  his  steps  to  stay, 

And  plant  for  him  shade  trees  on  the  highway. 

Time  is  looking  at  me  and  at  you, 

And  our  course  he  always  keeps  in  his  view. 

You  cannot  deceive  him,  for  many  have  tried 

By  their  inventions  him  to  outride. 

All  blame  is  laid  on  time  to-day 

For  the  failures  of  men  who  like  to  delay. 

It  is  easy  now  a  duty  to  shirk 

When  one  has  no  time  to  give  to  good  work. 

Time  is  the  owner  of  the  whole  earth, 

And  those  who  are'  living  time  gave  them  birth. 

Why  should  they  squander  their  wages  each  day, 

Which  time  has  given  them  for  to  pay 

For  a  home  in  heaven,  a  place  for  the  blest? 

For  time  himself  can  lie  down  and  rest. 


THE  ROSEBUD  THAT  NEVER  BLOOMED. 

There  was  a  rosebud  we  all  felt  sure 
That  would  receive  the  honor,  the  first  to  mature. 
So  we  watched  it  each  day  lest  the  color  would  fade, 
And  all  the  bright  petals  on  the  ground  be  laid. 

[186] 


The  sun  seemed  to  smile  down  with  delight, 
As  the  little  rosebud  waved  forth  so  bright. 
The  sun  looked  back  as  it  sank  in  the  west, 
And  whispered,  "Goodnight,  sweet  be  thy  rest." 

The  rosebud  thus  left  murmured  a  sigh, 
As  the  wind  piercing  cold  just  passed  by. 
It  drew  near  the  leaves  that  grew  all  around. 
Tho'  it  tried  very  hard,  no  shelter  was  found. 

The  chilly  breeze  passed,  and  there  was  another, 
More  piercing  cold  than  the  other, 
Until  the  bright  gleam  in  the  eastern  sky, 
That  told  to  the  world  that  daylight  was  nigh. 

The  sun  rose  up  with  such  haste 
That  the  little  rosebud  hid  its  face. 
The  sun  smiled  forth  its  delight, 
Anxious  to  see  that  all  was  right. 

But  the  little  rosebud's  drooping  head 
Spoke  of  the  grief  as  tears  it  shed 
When  the  warm  sun  was  gone  from  its  sight, 
King  Frost  came  forth  into  the  night. 

And  with  his  cold  hand  he  tightly  clasped 
The  little  rosebud  in  his  grasp ; 
And  when  the  sun  his  hand  released, 
The  rose's  life  had  all  quite  ceased. 

[187] 


Grieve  not  for  the  roses  that  bloom, 
For  it  sheds  forth  a  rich  perfume; 
It  has  done  much  this  life  to  cheer, 
So  for  its  fate  you  need  not  fear. 

But  if  you  have  some  grief  to  show, 
Place  it  on  those  who  are  fallen  low; 
For  the  rosebud  which  has  never  shed 
A  rich  perfume  on  its  dying  bed. 


THE  OLD  MAID. 

We  view  the  old  maid  as  a  flower 

Plucked  by  some  rough  hand, 
Then  cast  aside  to  wither, 

While  others  around  her  stand, 
Which  used  to  enjoy  her  beauty 

And  fragrance  she  once  shed, 
But  now  as  her  youth  is  passed 

They  count  her  as  one  dead. 

But  you  say  the  world  offers  her  pity, 
They  call  her  crabbed  and  cold; 

She  does  not  thank  them  now, 
But  thinks  they  are  very  bold. 

[1881 


When  they  question  her  about  her  life, 
And  ask  her  why  she  did  not  take 

The  man  who  offered  her  his  love, 
Why  did  she  not  a  home  make  ? 

The  world  does  not  understand 

The  old  maid  who  works  every  day 
For  her  aged  father  and  mother, 

And  there  from  society  stay. 
They  do  not  know  she  is  fed  from  above 

By  the  angels  who  bring  her  bread, 
That  is  given  as  duty's  return, 

Each  day  a  feast  to  spread. 

Oh,  yes !  she  once  had  brothers, 

And  there  were  sisters,  too ; 
But  they  are  all  now  married, 

And  passed  out  of  her  view. 
They  have  now  most  forgotten 

That  at  home  one  did  stay 
To  tend  the  aged  and  feeble, 

Without  one  thought  of  pay. 

If  she  is  poor  and  needy, 

And  works  for  her  daily  bread, 

There  will  be  no  one  at  her  grave, 
A  tear  of  grief  to  shed. 

The  world  has  now  forgotten 
Her  bright  and  happy  youth, 

[189] 


They  know  not  of  her  labors, 
Nor  what  she  spent  in  truth. 

But  if  she  has  money, 

A  plenty  for  to  spend, 
She  is  ever  sure  to  find 

A  brother  or  a  friend, 
That  is  more  than  willing 

To  sacrifice  all  truth, 
And  claim  her  as  a  darling, 

A  treasure,  yes,  forsooth. 

Many  an  old  maid  now 

At  the  homestead  there  be, 
Unmolested  in  life, 

But  at  death  you  will  see 
The  heirs  all  appear  then, 

As  vultures  who  soar  on  high, 
To  devour  the  carcass  fallen, 

That  on  the  earth  now  lie. 

Perhaps  the  heirs  are  unlike, 

The  vulture,  yes,  you  say ; 
But  are  more  like  the  tiger 

Who  in  wait  doth  lay, 
Who  springs  upon  their  victim 

Before  they  are  dead, 
They  care  not  for  the  grief, 

Nor  the  tears  that  are  shed. 

[190] 


If  they  had  the  power, 

The  home  they  will  take; 
And  of  the  old  maid, 

A  beggar  they  will  make, 
Or  else  they  will  take  her, 

And  she  is  surely  sent 
To  the  home  for  the  aged  and  feeble, 

Where  her  last  days  are  spent. 


[191] 


PS 
3^31 

P3ii9 


